


Sew What?

by esanabridges



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humor, Slow Burn, Tailoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esanabridges/pseuds/esanabridges
Summary: Jaime needs some new suits. (And gets dragged into a whole lot more.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TBH - I just wanted to make puns.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our protagonists have a "magical" first encounter.

_Come inside and have a fit. We'll have you in stitches!_

 

Jaime stared at the chalkboard sign. The letters were beautifully done, with shapes so perfect they might as well have been typed, and the place had come well-recommended, but could he really bring himself to walk into a store that had accosted him with _two_ puns before he even set foot in the door?

Before he could make up his mind, the door flew open, and a woman with curling brown hair and a robin's egg pantsuit stepped out, carrying a small pot of red roses. She placed it down on the other side of the sign and then straightened and smiled at him.

"Hi! Did you need something?" She followed Jaime's gaze to the roses and smiled again. "They need a lot of sun, and I'm always worried they don't get enough inside." Her eyes trailed down Jaime's form, as if measuring him up, and then she asked, "Are you coming in?"

There was something about her voice that seemed vaguely familiar, and he was still trying to puzzle out just what it was when he blinked and found himself standing inside the brightly lit tailor's shop. He started, looking around at handsomely dressed mannequins and fabric cuttings. "How did you do that?" He demanded.

The woman, who was letting the door shut gently behind him, asked innocently, "Do what?" She strode over behind the counter and then turned to face him again. "So, what can I do for you? Repairs, consultations, a new suit?"

He continued to stare as she smiled benignly at him over the oak desk and then reluctantly admitted, "New suit. Well, suits."

"Yeah? How many? For what kind of an occasion?" She pulled the keyboard to the computer on the desk over to her and began to type.

"Uhh… all of them? I think about six…"

"Okay," the woman continued, seemingly unfazed by his uncertainty. "What's your name?"

"Jaime Lannister."

The woman paused and then tilted her head to look at him. "Jaime - Lannister? Not brother to -"

"Please say Tyrion," Jaime interrupted. "Please tell me you're about to say Tyrion."

The woman bit her lip, seemingly fighting back a smile. "I am not."

_God dammit._ "I have to leave," he muttered under his breath, turning.

"Margaery, sorry it took me so long. The linens -"

Jaime jumped back, narrowly avoiding the door - and then three bolts of fabric - nearly smacking him in his award-winning face. He ducked and then looked up into what had to be literal portals to the oceans his family had vacationed on as a child, before infighting and Joanna's death had turned every family vacation into a slowly sinking hellscape. They had to be portals - or at least very good recreations - he was almost certain he had seen that blue on a postcard before, right next to perfectly white sand and -

"Sorry," muttered a voice from the oceans, and suddenly Jaime's eyes unfocused and took in what surrounded those blue, blue eyes - a pockmarked face, with acne scars dotting brown all over it, pale skin that was flushed blotchily with an unflattering shade of red, and a nose that was crooked. Jaime guessed that it must have been broken at least twice, if not more. The wide slash of a mouth moved again and asked, "Are you okay?"

When he didn't answer for a beat, still mesmerized by the astonishing juxtaposition of the person's eyes and - well, the whole rest of them - the woman behind the counter stepped in. "Brienne, this is Mr. Lannister. He's going to be a new customer. Don't worry about being late. I held down the fort. Do you want to drop the stuff off in the back, while I finish taking Mr. Lannister's order?"

"Yeah," Brienne replied, shooting Margaery a very unsubtle look of thanks. Jaime watched as the ugly - pretty? Honestly, he still couldn't decide if those eyes made up for anything or just made everything worse - hulking giant - at least his height, probably taller - lumbered off into the back, carrying the long bolts of fabric as if they were weightless.

"Jaime?" That was Margaery's voice, and Jaime turned to look back at her, still stunned by his encounter. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to ambush you or anything. I'm Loras' sister."

It was now time to blink at Margaery in mild consternation. "Loras' - Loras Tyrell? You're a Tyrell?" He looked around the shop. "Why do you work here? Your family's more loaded than mine."

Margaery shrugged, one perfectly arranged curl tumbling over her shoulder. "What can I say? I like keeping busy. Plus," she added, eyes twinkling, "There's really nowhere better to keep in touch with people."

Jaime looked around the small shop, at the mannequins, and the stunning lack of other customers. "Really?"

"You're here, aren't you? You know, I should have recognized you sooner. Loras has showed me the selfies he and Renly take at your family dinners, but you're always covering your face."

"If your family was as exasperating as mine, you would be, too," Jaime muttered under his breath.

The edge of Margaery's lips twitched. "Anyways, why do you need six new suits? I remember the one from your last dinner - it was gorgeous!"

"Yeah, well, it's dead now. Along with every other nice garment of clothing I own." He shrugged one shoulder, crossing his arms. "My delightful sister saw right to burn everything when she found out I was going to be joining Tyrion's firm, instead of staying on as her personal lawyer and punching bag."

"Ooo, Loras will be sad," Margaery said back nonchalantly, as if he had just told her that he and Cersei had had a disagreement about dish towels, "He said you're the most entertaining person at the dinners - besides Renly, of course." She looked back at her computer. "So - suits - we'll start there - business wear then? We'll go with two very nice ones for court days, four for more everyday rotation, and two linen ones for warmer weather, shall we? And then we'll see what else you need or want."

"Uh, I think that's more than I need."

"Don't be silly. You're joining Tyrion's firm, and I've seen that man's suits. He knows how to dress. You mustn't embarrass him, now must you, Jaime?" She flashed him a secretive smile, and he found the edge of his mouth twitching before he realized what was happening. "Alright. Everything's in. First thing's first - we need to get you fitted. Follow me."

She flew out from behind the counter, Jaime trailing behind her.

 

* * *

 

Blue clung to him briefly, before almost invisible eyelashes shielded them away. Brienne fumbled with her tape measure and then drew it down his chest on the left. Her fingers were light, like someone pretending to play a piano. They were large, he noted, and where they brushed the side of his neck, they felt rough, callused.

Jaime felt a shiver run down his neck and resisted the urge to step away. Light, orchestral music played in the background.

"Sorry," came a mumbled word. "About before, I mean." Brienne retracted the tape and made a note on her notepad. Her handwriting was small and neat, though nothing as ornate as what had been written on the chalkboard. He wondered if that had been her - she certainly seemed like she would have the patience for it, but there had been a distinct beauty to the lettering that he could not imagine coming from someone who could quite possibly pass for an orc from any of a number of popular fantasy films.

"Try to bowl over people often, do you?" He asked.

The red on her face increased in surface area, splotch after splotch overtaking first her cheeks and then her nose. "I didn't realize anyone was going to be coming in."

He snorted, a prickle of amusement spiking through his chest. "Your store was open. Do you get that few customers?"

The scarlet was spreading down her neck now, disappearing under the collar of her well-fitted white t-shirt. She had muscles like a hardy construction worker, perfectly wrapped in cloth. "Most people make appointments," she muttered. "And Margaery usually tells me so I don't have to -"

"What - see them? Isn't that your job?" There was no answer to that, Brienne bending her head to carefully write out another number, and Jaime raised an eyebrow in bemusement. "Seriously, you're not into talking? Do people just stand here in silence while you turn them into decimal points?"

"That's what the music is for," came the reply, and was it his imagination or was there just a tell-tale sign of grumpiness there now? "It's soothing."

"Maybe for dry, old men, but I find fittings pretty boring. I need some conversation, or I'm afraid I'm going to be unable to stand still for as long as is needed." Jaime flung out an arm wildly, disturbing the measuring tape along his shoulder.

Brienne caught it before it could hit the ground and fixed him with a glare. "The more you fidget, the longer it's going to take me, and the more time you'll have to stand still," she pointed out. Her tone was just bordering on the edge of impolite, and it made Jaime grin.

"Not if you talk to me. Tell me your story. What's someone like you doing working in a place like this? It doesn't really seem to be your scene."

Instead of answering, Brienne raised the tape measure again. This time, Jaime ducked under her hand, slipping behind her. Brienne whirled around, eyebrows snapping together in irritation.

"Do you not want to get fitted?" She demanded.

"I mean, if she's anything like her family, I'm assuming Ms. Tyrell is going to charge me an exorbitant price for these suits, so I'd like the premium service, if you please."

"We charge fair prices for our pieces," Brienne shot back indignantly. "The price of the fabric and the time -"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to besmirch your honor, my lady," Jaime interrupted with a sweeping bow. "I'm sure you and she run a perfectly above board practice that doesn't at all take advantage of the fact that most of your customers are, I'm sure, models and actors."

She was positively glowing now, almost beet-like and it gave Jaime no small pleasure to see. Irritation gave her a vein of energy, bringing life to skin that probably turned lobster red with just ten minutes of sun, and it played with her eyes, too. They changed shades easily, he was noticing, with just a trick of the light washing the color into gray and storms. It made him want to walk her outside and see how they would change with the sun. Could they be possibly more brilliant?

"Well?" He demanded after the orchestral music had gotten far too long of a solo.

Brienne's eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she snapped, "Fine." She raised the tape measure. "My father was a tailor, and he would let me watch him work when he was young." If she had been efficient before, she was downright flying now, the tape stretching between her nimble fingers and numbers turning scribbled on her sheet of paper. "One day, he noticed that he was losing money and was probably going to go out of business soon."

"Didn't have the same clientele you did, huh?" He quipped, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"He realized that he only had enough fabric for one more suit, so he laid it out to finish in the morning, and then he went to bed. The next morning, he woke up to find that the fabric had already been made into a suit, with the stitches so fine they might as well have been done by a god, and when he put it on display, a wealthy man came in and paid him handsomely for it." She was on his legs now, as his mind tried to catch up with the words tumbling out of her mouth. Her voice was luring at that speed, almost soothing.

"He paid my father so well in fact that he was able to buy enough fabric to create two more suits, and that night, once again, my father laid out the fabric so that he could finish the suits in the morning."

A tingle of recognition was beginning to build in the back of Jaime's mind, but the feel of her arms wrapped around one of his legs made the thought fray momentarily.

"In the morning, he found the same thing again - two perfectly made suits, and when he put them up, they were bought again for a good price, so he bought fabric for more suits and laid them out. And this went on until he decided to spy one day, and he saw that there were actually fairies making the fabric for them, and when they saw him, they decided to curse me to become a tailor, and now, here I am, forced to interact with clients. There!"

She jotted down a final number with a supremely triumphant movement and jerked to her feet, almost ramming him in the chin. The expression on her place was the epitome of satisfied, with a grin that he would almost have deemed cocky.

"That's not how the story ends," he said belatedly.

"You didn't say I had to be accurate," Brienne pointed out. "Anyways, that's all I need from you now. You can come back in two weeks, and I should have some mockups for you to try. Talk with Margaery to make an appointment." She whirled on her heel and made a beeline for the door.

"Was any of that true?" He called after her.

"Not a word!" She yelled back.

The door slammed after him, and a few seconds later, Margaery poked her head in, smile going straight across. "So. Two weeks, I hear?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My April fic - 4/12 of the way there to publishing one fanfiction every month for 2018 (even if my March one showed up as in April...)
> 
> Anyways - hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you think I should continue this!
> 
> EDIT: Thank you so much for all the love! I've started work on another chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a discussion of fashion and food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - I'm going to be saying that a lot because I suck at scheduling. It was weirdly difficult to get this started, because once I realized that this wasn't going to be a oneshot, I had to start thinking about background and plot, and BOY was that a disaster. Anyways - enough rambling - enjoy.

"What in the name of our unholy father are you wearing?" 

He looked down at his plain white t-shirt and khaki shorts. "What? Also, you have to stop talking about him like that. You make it sound like he's dead."

"Might as well be for me," Tyrion replied. He swung his legs up on the desk, leaning back in his highly cushioned rolling chair. "And also maybe for him, too, now that he just has Cersei around. Let's make a bet. Who do you think gets the other one first? I think Cersei has the rage odds, but the old man has some tricks up his sleeve."

"They're not going to kill each other," Jaime said automatically. "But if they were, father would definitely win. Anyways, what's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing," Tyrion said innocently. "If you were about 20 years younger and pledging a frat. Otherwise -" He lifted his hand into the air and twisted it back and forth. "You're lucky you're stunningly attractive, Jaime, or someone might have actually looked below your face and asked you what you're doing in this place of business."

"Yeah, well -" Jaime let himself fall into the wooden chair on the opposite side of Tyrion's desk. "- you saw what happened to all my clothes, right?"

Tyrion winced, face morphing into something that looked like he was trying to be vaguely sympathetic, but was still mostly amused. "Renly texted me. Didn't realize it until it was too late, huh?"

Jaime threw his hands up in the air. "It was the middle of dinner. I got her a bottle of wine just for her, I told her in front of witnesses - how was I supposed to know that she wasn't actually going to the bathroom when she left the table?!"

"Well, isn't she your other half?" Tyrion smiled unrepentantly when Jaime glared at him. "Too soon?"

"Way too soon." He covered his face, suddenly awash with nausea as his sister's perfect face, pulled taut by rage and sharpened by the flames of the makeshift bonfire, screamed words he couldn't comprehend. The repairmen had looked doubtful when he had told them that it had been an accident - just because he wasn't willing to defend his sister in court anymore didn't mean that he wanted to send her there - but they had shrugged and informed him it would take three days for the room to be fully repaired.

When he lowered his face, the look in Tyrion's mismatched eyes was much more sympathetic. Jaime felt his shoulders go down at the gaze, and he shook his head, defeat washing over him in a tumbling wave. "I just thought - we were always there for each other - I thought - I thought we'd always protect each other."

"You did your part," Tyrion pointed out. "Now, it's time to move on. Which brings us back to your clothes." Tyrion tugged on the sleeve of his perfectly fitted white shirt. "Tell me you've bought new clothes, and they just haven't shipped yet. For my sanity and peace of mind, please."

He allowed himself a small crack of a smile. "Nope. I went to a tailor that Aunt Genna recommended though."

"So they'll be here soon? That's a blessing." Tyrion rummaged around on his desk, pulling folders out from other folders, all arranged in an unwieldly mimic of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. "I know you got some reading to finish up, but I have some current cases you can review and offer suggestions on, you know, really hone our craft."

Jaime reached across and took the folders. "Are you giving me homework, little brother?"

"Are you joining my practice with no experience in divorce or custody law?" Tyrion shot back.

Amused, Jaime help up his hands in surrender.

 

* * *

 

"How's it feel?" Brienne asked.

Yara took a few experimental steps. "Shoulders are a little tight. Pants are good." She flexed her arms a few times. "Yeah, definitely too tight." She grinned at Brienne over her own shoulder in the mirror. "I've started an aerial yoga class. Shit's hot as hell, but the instructor's fucking gorgeous." The stocky woman looked down at her arms thoughtfully. "Plus, seems pretty effective."

Brienne drew her tape measure over Yara's shoulders again and noted the new value. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Nah, it's good." Yara ducked into the changing room and appeared a minute later with the clothes hung over one arm. "When should I come back?"

"The wedding's Saturday?" Brienne asked. "Why don't you drop by tomorrow? It shouldn't be that hard of a fix, as long as you don't put on any more muscle between now and then."

Her client grinned, an expression that had always reminded Brienne vaguely of a shark's smile, deadly and very aware of it. "I'll do my best."

She let Yara back into the main section of the room, where the woman proceeded to flirt outrageously with Margaery (who matched her kind in kind), as Brienne slipped into her private workroom to drop off the clothes and her note on Yara's new measurements. The room's walls, lined with soft velvet that draped on everything it touched, dampened the sound from the main shop and gave Brienne a chance to breathe.

Yara wasn't particularly hard to talk to, as clients went, but nothing really compared to the tranquility of her inner sanctum. Brienne ran her finger down her to-do list and then grabbed her next task, a pair of navy blue dress pants that had a tear along the back. The customer had told Margaery that he had gotten caught on something, but Brienne had seen enough split-butt pants to know that he had probably crouched very deeply in pants not meant for that movement.

Brienne finished up the repairs, checked off the line on her list, and proceeded to the next one. It was soothing work, almost mind-numbing, but in a way that made Brienne feel like she was free to think on whatever she so desired. Her mind drifted, wandered, considering her plans for the weekend.

Her father was going to be in town. It was a tradition of his to bring his new belles to the city to show them off. He would want to have dinner with her, as he always did, never seeming to mind that the meals made both his dinner companions feel awkward and uncertain of what to say. Brienne knew that her father's lovers were always confused as to the state of her face and body, and for her own part, she found it difficult to care enough to make conversation with someone she knew would be gone by her father's next visit.

A knock drew her out of her considerations, and she looked up to Margaery's cheerful expression. "Hi. Ready to break for lunch?"

There was something about Margaery that always put Brienne perfectly at ease, her doe eyes luring Brienne into calm despite the fact that she had very distinct memories of Margaery stealthily upending the life of that Hunt boy in a manner that even her grandmother had admitted as being 'quite vindictive'. It wasn't a situation that she felt wholly comfortable being privy to, but if it had to happen in anyone in her life, she would have chosen Hunt.

"Yeah, I can stop." Brienne folded the cloth carefully over itself and got up from the table. "What are we eating?"

"Well, if you didn't have any preferences -" Margaery paused for a sufficient amount of time to let Brienne cut in and then continued, "- I was thinking poke. There's that new place on Claring that I've been wanting to try." She shook her head. "I know - it won't be as good as what we could get on Tarth, but perhaps, it'll be passable?"

"We'll see," Brienne replied solemnly. She started towards the doorway behind Margaery. "By the way, Pod said he wanted to come in for a few hours Friday. I know it's outside his normal hours - do we have enough to pay him?"

Margaery tapped thoughtfully on her purse. "I'll check, but it should be fine. Just tell him to text me his times, and I'll figure it out."

They stepped out the front door, Margaery locking up behind them as Brienne took a moment to lift her arms high above her head and lace her fingers together, stretching out her muscles. The sky was overcast, lumpy folds of gray and white obscuring any sign of sunlight.

"So plans for the weekend?" Margaery asked. They began to make their way down the street, which was lined with small mom and pop shops and eateries, all just on the far side of hipster. "Because Renly and Loras want to go hiking, and I've graciously accepted the offer on your behalf."

"You're not going to come?"

"I've agreed to go if they let me bring Sam to take some pics. Ellaria's publishing an article about how to dress white tie next month, and I want us to be featured in it. They're thinking about it."

"Renly always hated the cameras," Brienne commented. "If you don't make him dress up, he might be more for it."

"But he looks so good in a tailcoat and bowtie." Margaery shook her head. "Why are all of Loras' boyfriends so hot?"

Brienne bit back a smile and said back, dryly, "You're right. He should date exclusively people that you don't think look good in tailcoats and bowties."

" _Exactly_ ," Margaery replied, without a bit of irony in her voice, though her eyes were shining. "Anyways. Are you down for the hike?"

"As long as we get back before six. My dad wants to have dinner."

Margaery's gaze went soft and sympathetic, and she went on without missing a beat, "Okay, I'll let them know. I have to be back by then anyways. Remember that blonde who came in the other week?"

"The one who you said outshone even my 'blondliness'?" Brienne raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I remember. He needed to get his seams fixed, because he'd been 'working out'. I'm so glad that's all he wanted." She shook her head, trying to wipe the memory of the haughty stranger from her mind. "You're going out with him?"

"Just out to dinner. I don't really see it going anywhere, but he is a Targaryen, and they are making a reemergence." Margaery shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he'll turn out to have a wonderful personality."

"I don't know," Brienne said, doubtfully. "You don't have much luck with blondes. Remember Joffrey?"

They stopped in front of a glass pane with the words _Red Herring_ blazon across the surface. Brienne contemplated the name with a slightly bemused look. "Is this why you wanted to come here?"

"It's cute! And potentially a great lunch. Come on." Margaery tugged on the handle to the door and pulled it open to release a breath of air conditioned air that sent the hair standing up on Brienne's forearm. "And also, at least Joffrey was easy to manipulate."

Brienne shook her head. She had many thoughts about Margaery's one-time boyfriend, and 'easy to manipulate' did not fall in the top ten. "I'm just glad you never gave him the key to the apartment."

"I had your judgment keeping that at bay," Margaery replied cheerfully. "Plus, my own internal judgement. But you can't blame me - he was a Baratheon! And this was before Renly and Loras actually got together." She turned to smile at the person behind the counter. "Hi! Can I have the Tunaverse, please?"

_How did she do that so quickly?_ Brienne wondered as her eyes skittered over rows of punny recipe names and their listed ingredients (all listed with some more puns - she really had to admire their dedication - it almost rivaled Margaery's). "Uh…" she said, feeling her cheeks start to burn in splotches as she felt the eyes of the worker turn to her, "Could I, uh, could I get the - the Old Chums?"

"One Tunaverse and one Old Chums. Anything to drink?"

Luckily, that was a question that Brienne didn't have to consult an endless board for. "Just water, please."

"I'll have a green milk tea." Margaery handed over her credit card, gesturing Brienne over to a table as she paid.

Brienne went, grateful, and hunkered down in her chair, nursing her glass of water. The sides of the glass were ridged, and she traced her fingers over the pattern until Margaery came to sit across from her.

"Besides," Margaery said, as if nothing nerve-wracking at all had just happened, "He's in jail now, so we're fine. But speaking of eligible bachelors -"

"I don't think Joffrey can be counted as that," Brienne interrupted. "Either now or back then."

"Well, what about his uncle?" Margaery propped one elbow down on the table and leaned her head against her fist.

Brienne squinted at her. "Who?"

Her lunchmate rolled her eyes in a manner that Brienne knew was calculated to be just overdramatic enough to be comical. She couldn't bite back her smile.

"Jaime Lannister?" Margaery raised an eyebrow. "He came in last week for a bunch of suits, remember? The guy who you tricked with a very stirring rendition of _The Elves and the Shoemaker?_ If anyone's an eligible bachelor, it's him." She spread out her fingers and ticked off on her fingers. "Single, good family, lawyer, rich, handsome -"

The frown returning, Brienne asked, "Didn't he get convicted of a murder last year?"

"Charged," Margaery corrected. "The case was thrown out due to lack of evidence."

"So he could just be a very good murderer," Brienne pointed out.

"Renly believes him," Margaery replied. "That boy might be flighty and thoughtless, but he usually finds good people. Like you."

It was always disarming how quickly Margaery could switch tactics, and Brienne felt the blush return to her neck and creep slowly up her face. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"You know I love you. Anyways - legally not a murderer - and all those other things that I said! He'd be a good person to settle down with!" Down went the chin again, propped ever so perfectly on the closed fist - looking picture perfect was a special trait of Margaery's.

Brienne considered the memory of Jaime Lannister. He was a beautiful man - something she was sure that most people who saw him must think begrudgingly once they had heard him speak - but he had been unnecessarily nosy. She said so. "Plus," she added, "He implied that we overcharged people."

"Well, I definitely would if I didn't have you here to keep me honest," Margaery said back immediately. "But still, he's cute and single and Renly likes him - plus, now he's cut off from the main Lannister family, so you can get the hot bod and name without any of the drama." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Brienne snorted. "I think I'll just get his money, thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me love, and I shall respond by working up the motivation to continue lol (but actually though, feed my review-driven soul). Thanks for reading! See you in anywhere between a week to ten years (really hope it's not the second one, but wanna prepare you in case it is).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are judgments.

While there was certainly a certain freedom to having only clothing that he hadn't worn in 20 years available (the salmon colored shorts were comfortable regardless of how hard Tyrion laughed), Jaime had to admit that he was growing a little tired of wearing his late college clothing, not least because it seemed to embolden college-aged girls to think he was actually age appropriate. So he was fairly grateful when the appointed two weeks finally came around, and he arrived back at _Sew What?_ for his first fitting.

There was a new drawing on the chalkboard, this one with a swan stretching from top to bottom and the words: _Check out our website for our warmest jackets - You can get them down loaded!_

He was again considering the viability of finding another personal tailor - completely possible, since King's Landing was really going the direction of small and hipster stores coming back into style, and surely, there had to be someone else within a convenient driving distance, who didn't insist on puns at every turn - when there was a knock on the window pane closest to him. Jaime glanced up to see Margaery in the window, hair pulled back in a long braid and mouth quirked in her perpetual half-smile.

She waved and then beckoned, and now caught, Jaime pushed open the front door.

"Enchanted by our sign?"

Jaime snorted. "More like secondhand embarrassed."

Margaery made a humming noise in the back of her throat that indicated to Jaime that she was not one bit bothered by his disdain. "We can't control what we love. Would you mind waiting for a few minutes? Brienne is just finishing up with her last appointment."

"Sure." Jaime sat at one of the two armchairs near the front desk and leaned back, looking around. "So is it just the two of you here?"

"Mostly," Margaery replied. "Brienne has an apprentice who works here part-time, and we have a guy who we contract to make some of the more specialized pieces initially, but Brienne does the editing after that." Her lips curved upwards, and she added, "She's amazing."

Now, it was Jaime's turn to make a noise in the back of his throat, his veering towards the noncommittal, though based on Aunt Gemma's gushing, she certainly agreed. He reached out absently to feel the waistcoat on a mannequin. It was, even by his untrained eye, beautifully made, and as he flipped one edge up, monogramed with the letters _BT_ in silver on blue.

"So I'll see you Friday?"

The door to one of the store's two fitting rooms opened, and an impressively bearded redhead, wearing a shirt that seemed calculated to just barely fit him, walked out, with Brienne in tow. Jaime was struck by how short the man seemed, though he had to be at least six feet tall, next to Brienne's unimaginable length. There had been so much of her to take in on their first meeting - most specifically, those eyes - that it had barely registered that she was his height - possibly a little taller.

The redhead was looking back at Brienne with an expression on his face that fell somewhere between admiring and eager and was just on the wrong side of inappropriate. Brienne's face was covered in patches of red, a state that Jaime was starting to think might just be her default, and she shook her head as the man continued to look at her expectantly.

"I don't think I can. I'm - um - supposed to meet up with some college friends."

"Bring them," the man exclaimed. "Or we can do something more private - dinner? Do you want to get dinner sometime?"

Brienne shook her head again. "I'm not really looking to see anyone right now."

The man's face fell, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but before any words could make their way out, Margaery leaned in and said, "I can take care of you now, Mr. Giantsbane. Were the suits to your liking?" Margaery looked over at Jaime and tilted her head towards the fitting room. "Brienne, why don't you take our next customer in?"

It was almost impossible to miss the grateful look in Brienne's eyes as she darted back into the fitting room. Jaime stood up and followed after her, feeling vaguely amused.

"That happen a lot?" He asked when the door was closed firmly behind him. When Brienne didn't reply, instead going over to the wall to pull some patchworked suit pieces off the hangars, he added, "What was the matter with him? Was he too short for you?"

Snorting, Brienne walked over, holding a black shirt with large white stitches holding the individual pieces of cloth together. "Yes, that's why. He was too short, not what I just said about not looking for someone."

"Thought so," Jaime replied, sliding easily past the sarcasm, as he took the black shirt and carefully slung it over his plain white t-shirt. Immediately, she began to adjust the fabric on him, pulling in the waist and making a mark with a piece of white chalk that left a stark impression on the fabric.

He waited until she was almost levelheaded with him, her gelled-back, hay hair gleaming under the bright lights above, and then asked, "Want to try me instead?"

Brienne's eyes flickered up to meet his, her face so close he could see the lines inside her irises, feel her breath play along his lips. "What?"

"Me." He looked towards the top of her head critically. "You might have a spare inch or so on me, but give me some nice cowboy boots, and I'll be tall as anyone you know." He let his gaze drop back to hers and grinned. "How about it?"

For a moment, Brienne's expression didn't change, but then, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards in what had to be the beginnings of a smile, and he felt a small peak of triumph. "You're going to wear cowboy boots?"

"Anything to help me reach your mighty height." He stepped back with one foot and swept her a deep bow.

"Don't do that," Brienne ordered, pulling him back up sharply, her hands warm and solid. "You're going to pull out the basting thread. It's not meant to withstand a lot of force."

"You're not going to design my suits to jump and bow? What kind of a clothing shop have I walked into?"

"One that understands what custom means. Stay still."

Obediently, he allowed her to pull him back into position, staying quiet for a few moments as she continued to make adjustments and little outlines on the shirt. "How many more after this one?"

"Well, we have the pants and the suit jacket. That'll be all for today. Normally, we don't do so many of these all at once for one person, so I'm going to get the measurements on this one down first, and I'll use it as a guide for the other ones." Brienne stepped back to examine her work. "I'll need you to come in after we finish these initial three to get measured for the waistcoat and the jacket and pants that go with that, since that'll be a different fit."

Jaime held out his arms and spun around. "How do I look?"

Her eyes flicked up and down his body - even in cargo shorts and a black shirt covered in ridiculously bright chalk, Jaime knew he was Apollo-esque - and then the deep red, which had been almost completely faded, returned. There was a point just below her left cheekbone that never got as red as the rest of her face. It made Jaime want to see just how much it would take to fill in that piece.

"That stunning, huh? Can't wait for you to see me with a waistcoat - you'll be drooling."

The color went darker, and Brienne turned away, muttering as she did so.

Jaime cupped a hand around his ear dramatically. "What was that? Did I just hear you insulting waistcoats?"

"No one this century wears them."

"Yes, but they're dapper." Jaime flung out his arms in a flourish and then quickly pulled back at Brienne's glare. "Tyrion insists on at least one of them for 'big occasions'. I'm not sure if he means court or a debutante ball."

Brienne's lips moved, mouthing out 'court', before, "Oh right, you're a lawyer," and she looked down, stance suddenly going stiff, mouth pulling tight in silence.

It was a look that Jaime had grown uncomfortably used to over the last 20 or so years of his life, though usually the words that prompted it were just his name. He had been a household name once upon the time, on both national news and cheap, local tabloids, before time and other scandals had swept him from the private eye, until recent events.

He folded his arms over his chest. "Alright, what was it? You obviously didn't know who I was last time I walked in here, so did you look me up or did the Tyrell tell you?"

She looked like she might be about to protest the accusation, but eventually, she admitted, "Both."

"Really." Jaime tried to keep his voice even, jovial, tried to remind himself that it didn't matter what anybody said - no one knew the truth anyways, and that was the way it was meant to be. Still, he couldn't help, but ask, "What did you find out?"

Brienne looked up at the clock. "We should -"

"No, I want to hear what you found out. If we run out of time, I'll make another appointment. I can certainly afford it as I'm sure you found out with the gossiping." His grip on his arms tightened. _So much for pretending I didn't care._

"It wasn't gossiping," Brienne protested. "It was in the King's Landing Post."

"So are articles about how 'violet' is the color of the year," Jaime snapped back. " _What'd you find?_ "

Brienne clenched and unclenched her fists and then folded her arms across her chest, mirroring Jaime's stance. "You were recruited to Aerys Targaryen's law firm right after graduation, and three months later, they lost a big suit, Aerys killed himself, and your - your father bought everything that remained into the Lannister's firm. You were the one who sabotaged the suit so that your family could prosper - the Kingslayer - the man without honor."

Silence settled between the two of them as the old bitterness began to play in Jaime's chest. He had thought that he was over it, over the old whispers of people he had passed in the street - _traitor, ruthless, Kingslayer, murderer_ \- but it seemed that some wounds would never heal.

Laughter broke the silence - his - and she looked at him, startled. "Well, alright then." It was hard to tell what exactly his voice sounded like now. There was a roaring in his ears that made everything sound a thousand miles away. "I suppose I should be glad you're still fitting me at all if you know all that. I would have thought that someone who balked at the idea of overcharging people would never have taken me on as a customer."

Brienne scowled, eyes fixed on the floor before her. "I - Margaery said we couldn't afford it."

"Oh, well, good to know I was kept on for such a great reason!" Jaime let out another bark of laughter. "Bet you wish you overcharged people now, don't you? Then you could just send me away without any consequences."

She glared downwards, mouth smashed shut.

He ran a hand through his hair. "So that's just it, huh? One news article, and you've made up your mind? Let me guess, you also love hanging out by the rumor mill -"

"It wasn't just a rumor!" Brienne cried, eyes blazing indignantly. "It was everywhere! Every site was reporting on it, even the most reputable ones, and why shouldn't I believe them? You admitted to sabotaging the case! You caused Aerys' death, and you were charged with Robert Baratheon's death last year! I don't care if you weren't sentenced - you were a murderer back then, and you're one now!"

Jaime clutched the fabric of the black dress shirt and tore it from his form. The loose stitches popped easily, chalk lines scuffed, and he dropped the crumbled mess to the ground, before taking a step towards Brienne.

The woman had immediately dropped her hands to her sides, fists clenched ( _some fighting training_ , Jaime noted distantly), but she didn't back up. Her jaw was set, eyes wary, shoulders hunched.

"Aerys Targaryen was a good lawyer - he won lots of cases for his clients. You know what else he was?" Jaime asked, tilting his head to the side. "A sex trafficker. Well-kept secret, that one. I found out by accident, but once I knew, I didn't really want to live with it. He kept it hidden. The victims could never identify him directly, but he bragged about it to me when he found out that I knew. None of the police did anything when I went to them - my father already knew, and he didn't care, so I did what I had to. Aerys had bought everyone off. I needed to get rid of that money, and the only way to do that was to lose a big public case spectacularly."

_Silver hair, violet eyes that gleamed with malice -_

Jaime pushed the image away, continuing onward. "Afterwards - what my father chose to do - I had nothing to do with that. The police didn't want it getting out that they had taken bribes, so they sent the victims off and kept it from going back to Aerys. And I became 'Kingslayer'. 'The man without honor.' An easy person to pin the blame for a murder on even 17 years later, especially when that person is your brother."

"What?" Brienne asked, horrified. Her eyes had slowly widened through Jaime's words, and now there was a clear circle of white all the blue of her pupils, shock plain on her face. "You mean - your sister?"

"Robert abused her," Jaime snapped bitterly. "I'm sure the King's Landing Post mentioned that as my motivation, except it wasn't mine. It was hers. And she thought who better to blame it on than someone who would always come when you called?" He closed his eyes, dizzy for a moment as the scent of her perfume exploded in his mind, the wound still as raw as it had been a year ago, when Robert had fallen dead at his feet. "She said she needed help, so I got in my car and drove over - must have broken a dozen traffic laws, cause they got me on three different cameras - and when he opened that door and let me in -" It had taken Robert Baratheon less than ten minutes to die after he had entered, just enough time for the two of them to sit down at the table together, Robert with a beer and he, with a glass of water. Cersei had been nowhere in the apartment.

Brienne was trembling, and Jaime noticed that her hands had gone slack, her gaze turned downward. _No more fight in her. Against me, anyways._

"Why didn't you tell someone?" She whispered. "Anyone -"

"About which one?" Jaime asked, throwing back a humorless chuckle. "The one that everyone had already made up their mind about? Or the other one that everyone had already made up their mind about _and_ which would get my sister thrown in jail for the rest of her life?" He shook his head. "No. They have no right to judge me." He looked back at Brienne. "And neither do you."

Jaime looked down at the broken once-shirt that was lying on the ground. "I'll pay for anything you've already made, your time and materials, since you seem to think they're so valuable. But everything else - I'll find someone else."

He turned on the spot and stalked away, footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basting thread is a real thing - thanks to the Permanent Style blog for really educating me on the tailoring profession. My horizons have been broadened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a gift.

Brienne looked at the listings on the wall, half of which had business names next to them and the rest of which were blank. She squinted and then asked into the phone she held at her ear, "What was the number again?"

"1109. You didn't write it down?"

"I thought I would just remember it. Do you think that's on the first floor or the 11th floor?"

"11th, definitely. No son of Tywin Lannister lives on the first floor. And stress makes it harder to remember things."

Brienne frowned as she walked over to the elevator and hit the up button. "I'm not stressed."

From the other side of the phone came a peal of laughter. "No, of course not," Margaery said when she was done. "You totally haven't spent the past two days rolling around on my couch and not telling me why our promising new customer stormed out less than 15 minutes into his fitting - I still haven't forgiven you, by the way. We promised to always tell each other everything!"

"We were both very drunk, and you wanted it as a birthday present. It wasn't binding. Hold on, elevator." Brienne stepped in, waiting until she hit the 11th floor before she began talking again. "Also, this is really private. I don't think I can tell you."

"Hm," was Margaery's reply. "Betrayed by my own family. I knew this day would come. I always thought it would be that flighty brunette."

"Loras?" Brienne moved the phone over to her other ear, dropping the bag at her side into her opposite hand, and scanned the small gray signs that hung on the wall opposing the elevator and then turned left.

"Yes, that one. He'd sell me out for a can of hairspray. Willas is too sensible to ever get on my bad side."

"Anyone who can think is too sensible to get on your bad side."

"Well, that has always been Loras' downfall."

Despite the butterflies that had been moving into her stomach since she had made up her mind, Brienne had to let out a chuckle. Margaery, she knew, loved both her brothers with all her heart, but she was fairly practical about nature of both of them as well.

"That's the sound I was looking for. Are you almost there?"

Brienne checked the doors she was walking past. "1103, so almost."

"Okay. Are you sure you want to do this?" Margaery's voice dropped a few notches, pitching itself into what Brienne considered her friend's most comforting notes. "If you're doing this for the business, we'll be fine even without him. Some of Loras' new costars need outfits for their first premiere, and I'm sure he could convince them to come over to us."

_1107… 1109._ Brienne stopped before the dark, cherry wood door with the affixed cursive gold numbers laid atop the peephole. "No, it's alright. This isn't - this is personal."

She could almost feel Margaery nodding on the other end of the line. "Alright. Call me afterwards if you want, okay? And brunch tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Bye, Margaery."

"Bye, love. Good luck!"

The line went silent, and Brienne pocketed her phone. She adjusted her grip on the bag and then lifted up a hand to press the buzzer. It went off, sending a distant bumblebee-esque noise trailing behind the door, and she stood, waiting. The second stretched, and after about 30 of them, Brienne pressed the buzzer again.

She had just placed the bag neatly in front of the door and was taking out her phone to open her rideshare app when the door flew open, introducing a small spray of water and far too much undressed skin.

"I'm here, I'm here. The ETA was 20 minutes, and I needed a shower -" Jaime Lannister paused, one hand holding a towel around his waist, the other tousling his still steaming hair, and blinked at her. "Uh - have you taken up a side job as a Hot Pie delivery girl?"

Brienne, who was furiously averting her eyes while doing her best to appear like she was doing nothing of the sort, shook her head vigorously. "No - I -" Her well-rehearsed words were scattering to the wind faster than she could retrieve them by so much gold - golden hair, dark with wet and scattered - golden skin, perfectly tanned, gleaming even in the fluorescent glow of the lightbulbs - and all of it set off like a featured photo by eyes so green she might as well have been in the middle a forest.

"You…?" Jaime looked down, eyes falling on the black bag on the ground. He stooped to pick it up, hair towel falling loosely around his dripping neck, and peered inside. "Is this from you, or should I just take it as coincidence that you both showed up at the same time?"

"It's from me," Brienne mumbled, cursing internally at how shaken her voice must have sounded. She cleared her throat, still not looking at Jaime.

"What is it? An apology present? You trying to woo me back? You should know that's not going to work." Jaime stepped away from the door, forcing Brienne to put out an arm to keep the cherry wood from smacking her in the face. "Did the Tyrell put you up to this?"

"It's not an apology present," Brienne muttered. She stepped inside uncertainly, eyes flickering over what was an unsurprisingly chic, modern apartment, with a granite countertop peeking out from the kitchen and strangely angled, low furniture from the living room. She followed Jaime as he walked away from her. "And Margaery had nothing to do with this."

Jaime snorted, dumping the bag onto the kitchen island and walking over to the cabinet. "Are you sure? Because I've met the Tyrell grand matriarch, and I cannot imagine that she let two of her grandchildren completely fail their manipulations class." At her questioning look, he added, "I've met Loras." He grabbed a glass and walked over to the fridge.

_It is not a good day to be Loras,_ Brienne thought absently to herself. "Margaery knows how to talk to people," she replied, hesitantly.

"I'll bet." Jaime took a long drink from the glass, and Brienne did her best to not watch the way he tilted his head back to do so, leading the eye to naturally fall to his bare neck and then his bare chest and sagging towel -

"Did you just come to ogle me?"

Brienne's eyes jerked up from where soft white towel and what she presumed was soft, golden skin met, meeting Jaime's coolly amused eyes, and she thanked any god she could think of that she could not blush any harder than she was already doing.

"If you're not here to apologize, we could always have hate sex," Jaime offered in a manner that made it sound like he was giving her a mint. "I've heard that can be fun. Especially if you really despise someone."

"I don't despise you," Brienne said sharply. "I -" She paused, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "I went back and looked more carefully, and while I couldn't find anything about Aerys, there wasn't anything that wasn't circumstantial in the case against you with Robert Baratheon." She shook her head, feeling a few strands of hair break free of their wax. "I - I made my judgments based on the information that was presented to me. I know that it fell in line with what everyone else believed in you, but I'm sure it doesn't hurt any less to be accused of murder today than it did when - when this all started. I shouldn't have done that." She looked down at her hands, rubbing them against each other absently. "I know it hurts when people assume things."

There was a long silence after that, during which Brienne gradually lifted her eyes from her own fingers and back up to Jaime. He was watching her, head tilted to one side, a motion that had let his blond hair fall over his eyes in short, spiky shadows. There was nothing readable about his expression.

"Well," he said at last, "You didn't actually say the words, but that still sounded like an apology." He tucked the towel around his waist into itself and reached into the bag, pulling out a palm-sized wooden box. "Are you sure this isn't an apology present?"

Brienne bit her lip to keep the corners of her mouth from quirking upwards. "It's not," she responded. "It's just a - a present."

"'Just a present'," Jaime mused. He tapped a finger on the outside of the box and then reached for the metal clasp to flick it open. Jaime blinked down and then looked up at Brienne, raising an eyebrow. "I see what you mean." He lifted out a plain, slim piece of fabric, just on the near side of matte. "A tie?"

"Since you seem to have lost all your formal clothes," Brienne replied. She swallowed and then continued, "It's - uh - it's been dyed Stormy Weather - that's the name of the color. It's the color of the sky right before it breaks open." She dropped her eyes to the tie and then lifted them back up to her companion's face. He was fiddling with the piece, turning it over in his hands. "I - my father always said to me - I grew up on an island, and our summers were basically one big storm after another - he always tells me that it doesn't matter how long a storm lasted, because eventually, eventually, every storm will end." Brienne lifted a shoulder up and let it drop. "Even the ones that - that don't involve any rain or thunder."

He continued to play with the tie, eyes fixated on it, though they seemed to look right through. It made his whole face look more open, almost younger, as if her words had taken him back to something he hadn't thought about in a very long time. Very slowly, he folded the tie back up and returned it to the box, gently dropped the lid back into place.

Jaime lifted his head up, eyes still a little lost, and nodded. "Thank you. It's a -" A ghost of a smile tugged itself across her face. "It's a good gift, apology or not. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Brienne returned the smile and then began to shift her weight from side to side. "Well, I should be going -"

"Why?" Jaime asked, slipping the box back into its bag. "I have food coming - way too much food to actually eat by myself, and everyone knows that takeout is less depressing when you have someone to eat it with. It's the middle of the day - do you have plans?" He pointed a finger at her as he picked up the bag and made his way out of the kitchen.

"Well, no -" Brienne admitted, "But -"

"Great. Let me change." He flashed her a smirk, eyes flickering bright. "Unless you prefer me in just a towel?" The door to what Brienne presumed to be his bedroom slammed shut, leaving Brienne staring at it in some mild disbelief.

The thought _Can I just leave?_ began to immediately spar with the part of Brienne's brain that had grown up on old-fashioned customs, where etiquette and courtesy, neither of which Brienne had been a star at, had reigned supreme. She was still going back and forth on the pros and cons of each choice and exactly how her old septa might respond to any of them when the door to Jaime's bedroom swung open again, and her host exited.

He was now dressed in a white button-up that had been left a little too unbuttoned and jeans that hugged the line of his body a little too well. Brienne wondered for not the first time in her life why some men had the audacity to be so handsome, especially when most of them were unfailing rude as well. _Though it might be better if he was ruder. I could ignore his pretty face better._

"Oh wow," Jaime said at seeing her. "You're still here. I was totally sure you were just going to slip out." He studied her thoughtfully and then asked. "Has anyone ever told you that you look kind of like a cow chewing its cud when you just stare?"

Brienne flushed hot, this time with anger, and thought, _There it is. Good-bye, pretty boy._ "I'm going to go," she announced curtly, whirling to face the door.

Jaime held up both hands. "Wait, wait, that was rude. I apologize - look, we both did it today. I'm sorry. Let me get you something to drink. What do you want?" He breezed past her, the speed of his passing sending a fluttering through her plain gray v-neck. "Water? Cranberry juice? Milk?" He grinned at what must have been a disbelieving look on her face. "I'm a teetotaler. My family doesn't really do well with alcohol in general, and you can't have Reese's Puffs without milk. It's just not done."

"Are you a preschooler?" Brienne asked, the words slipping out faster than she could stop them. "Uh - I mean -"

"If only. I was at the top of my preschool class you know," Jaime interrupted before she could continue. He set the glass of water on the table and stared in a mock wistful way off into the distance. "Everyone was so impressed I could read the picture books. What a great time." He shook his head and then reached across the island to place the glass closer to Brienne. "What about you?"

"Me?" Brienne asked uncertainly. "Me, as in, my preschool?" She stepped up to the granite slab and picked up the glass, slipping onto one of the conveniently placed stools beneath the island. "Tarth didn't exactly have one, and I was homeschooled, so I guess I was always number one."

"Oh, that sounds like a challenge," Jaime chortled, picking up his own glass. "So then, Ms. Top-of-Every-Class-She-Was-Ever-In, tell me how you actually began in the tailoring profession. Did it actually have anything to do with your dad?"

"Why do you want to know?" Brienne asked, frowning. "Why do you even care?"

Jaime leaned across the counter, propping his chin up on one fists. "I like to get to know the people I hire to help me." She blinked, and he grinned, seemingly reveling in her surprise. "I'll call Margaery on Monday and ask her to set me up for another appointment, since the last one probably didn't give you much to work with. Unless -" He paused. "You're not okay taking me back?"

"No!" Brienne shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not. It was - I just didn't think you were going to want to come back."

"Apology or not, it was a good present. Plus, Renly and Loras called me to 'protest my treatment of you', and they can be quite annoying."

The words startled a laugh out of Brienne. "They can be," she agreed. "I'm glad - I'm glad you're coming back." She smiled at him and then coughed and looked down at her glass. "Margaery will be happy."

"I'll just bet. So tell me about yourself."

She let her gaze climb to him again, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. Finally, she said, "I bet you're not going to ask the delivery person that."

His smile - smirk? Something in between - widened. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. You've caught me. I'm not particularly interested in the service workers in my life, but I am interested in you."

She shook her head, taking a drink from her glass. "Why? We barely know each other."

"I have told you my two biggest secrets in the world," Jaime pointed out. "I'd say that puts us a little past just acquaintances. But besides that…" He let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. It was starting to dry, Brienne noted, clumped spikes turning into soft tufts that reflected light gently. "At first, I just wanted to know why someone who seems so…" He trailed off, studying her.

"Ugly," Brienne supplied. She had heard the word so many times that it barely made a sting.

"…Unfashionable," Jaime corrected. "Why someone who seems so unfashionable would want to go into a fashion industry - did the Tyrell force you? Are you secretly Cinderella, but this is your pre-ball form?"

She had to bite back another smile. "Nothing of the sort," she retorted. "If I was going to be any mythical creature, I'd be Hephaestus."

"A magnificent tradesman," Jaime replied immediately. There really was something so warm about his smiles now that they seemed genuine - she could see why Margaery placed him in the top ten most handsome men in Westeros. "But you know, now I'm just interested." He stared at her, the smile still lingering along his lips. "I told you a lot of very important things to me - without any proof - and you came back at me with 'Stormy Weather'?" He slowly shook his head from side to side. "That's something else."

Brienne shifted on her stool. "It's what my dad always said to me. He - he wasn't - he wasn't the best father, but he loved me a lot, and it helped - those words. It got me through - through a lot."

"I'll just bet," Jaime murmured.

"But regardless," she forced herself to continue. "I don't think we should make exchanging personal anecdotes a regular thing. You are a customer - it's not very professional."

"Oh no, do I need to fire you again?" Jaime chuckled. "I'm kidding, of course. If you're not comfortable with it, I'll let you be on your way." He extended a hand across the island. "Thanks again for the tie, Brienne Tarth."

His hand was warm and smooth - unsurprisingly since he was a lawyer - and Brienne felt the touch spread up her arm. She smiled back. "You're welcome, Mr. Lannister."

"Jaime. My name is Jaime."

She swallowed and licked her lips, heart thudding to a beat she couldn't quite nail down. His eyes were green - emeralds set in an artist's masterpiece - enchanting, and she almost _wanted_ to be enchanted.

"Jaime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you for reading and leaving me lovely comments! I can't express how much it means to me to be able to read them. I hope that you'll continue to leave me love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is honor.

"Do you usually work this late?" Jaime laid the garment bag on the back of the wooden chair, where it was swiftly taken up by Brienne and placed on a hangar. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the same chair, before settling down into it and looking up at Brienne.

Her back turned to him, Brienne answered, "No. But we're a little behind schedule now, and we know you need the suits for court, so I wanted to get this fitting done as soon as possible. It's the most important one." She patted the garment bag before turning around. "I think it'll probably be easier to let me make the adjustments on our suit first, and then I'll see how your store-bought one looks on you." Her eyebrows came together. "Why are you sitting?"

"I like sitting," he replied simply. "You say store-bought like it's a disease. When's that one going to be ready?"

"Assuming it doesn't completely not fit you, I should finish any adjustments by the end of the week." Brienne shook her head. "And there's nothing wrong with store-bought. I know not everyone can afford bespoke tailoring." She reached for another hangar, beckoning with one hand as she did so.

"But…" Jaime drawled as he pushed himself to his feet. He held out his arms to carefully slip on the black dress shirt and stood still as Brienne came around to stand in front of him, her eyes focused intently on his collar.

"But bespoke tailoring helps you find a fit you can't get with a mass-produced piece." She glanced at his face and must have seen the disbelief, because she stood back and crossed her arms. "I'm serious. Store-bought suits are made to fit a very particular individual - the Vitruvian man."

Jaime felt a laugh burst from himself at the words. "I'm sorry, what? Isn't that that piece by Da Vinci?"

"It's not just that," Brienne shot back. "It was based on a description by the architect Vitruvius of the perfect proportions of a man." She extended a hand and began to count off on her fingers. "The height of a man should be equal to the length of the arms when spread out to the sides. Shoulders are a quarter of the height. The distance from the elbow to the fingertips should also be a quarter of the height, and the total height should equal to eight heads." She threw out her arms, chest swelling in indignation. "There are about 15 more requirements that he had, and that is who the store-bought suits are made for, even the ones that say they have a different leg length or width. No one fits perfectly in them." She gestured at him. "Even someone like you -"

"Someone like me?"

She shot him a glare, the expression darkening the ocean blue closer to a navy. "I'm sure I'm not the first person to make you aware of the fact that you are - are well-proportioned."

"Nope," Jaime replied, grinning, "But no one's quite put it like that. Anyways, what about 'even someone like me'?"

"You're about as close to the Vitruvian man as anybody, but you still slouch."

"What?" Jaime asked, surprised. He felt his back straighten automatically in response to the accusation and had a vague memory of Tywin explaining the importance of posture as he tried very hard not to fall asleep. "I don't slouch."

Brienne stepped around so that she could hover her hand over the middle of his back. "Relax," she ordered. As he did so, her hand pressed into the thin, white t-shirt, spreading warmth through his skin. "It's not much, nothing noticeable when you're wearing something casual, but the thing about formal wear is that the fabrics we use for it draw attention to the little things. When you wear a shirt that isn't fitted properly, you're going to get a crease here." With her other hand, she tapped the base of his chest lightly. "It might not be the biggest deal for you, but just imagine someone who also has a longer neck than what a man in the 1400s decided was ideal or weighs more or imagine what a woman or someone who's nonbinary feels like when suits aren't even made with them in mind." She let out a breath, dropping her hand. "You end up looking sloppy, and then you come off as unprofessional, and then you can't get that job or promotion or contract -"

"Have some experience with that?"

The edge of Brienne's mouth twisted in a grimace, and she turned away, not answering. She returned with a piece of chalk, drawing fresh lines on the black shirt. Her hands were gentle despite the grim set of her expression, and when she was done, she handed Jaime a set of pants and faced the other direction.

As Jaime tossed his shorts at the chair that bore his other clothes, Brienne began to speak again.

"Nothing ever fit me." He looked up at her, one leg into the slacks. Her back was rock solid, head tilted back ever so slightly as she studied the ceiling. "Nothing from the girls' section. Nothing from the guys' either. I don't have a chest, but I have hips that are too wide. My legs are too long for my torso, too thick, and my shoulders -" One of her hands crept up to the offending body part, rubbing it in an absentminded manner. "- I never looked good as a kid."

"When I was 22, I had to start interviewing for jobs, and so I went to get fitted for my first suit - my septa wanted me to wear a dress, but I refused, and my dad finally gave in -" Brienne broke off, lifting a hand to cover her face. "It was the first time that I felt like maybe I wasn't a freak of nature."

She turned around again, not quite meeting his eyes. "It was just a hobby at first, but -" She shrugged her shoulders. "People judge based on appearance, and we internalize that. We learn to hate the way we look, and that makes us hate ourselves." Brienne crouched before Jaime and began to tug at the pants. "I can change that. I want to."

"How?" It was difficult, trying to make the question not sound hostile, but Jaime did his best. "Your main customer base is Loras' costars and people like me, and I get what you're saying, but if any group of people is going to fit into the Vitruvian ideal, it's going to be models and actors."

"I know," Brienne replied, voice quiet. She folded a piece of fabric inward and drew a line straight down Jaime's leg. "We work with some local charities - low-income families, transgender and nonbinary teens - to help them get clothing that's made for them and makes them feel comfortable, so they can get into school or interviews or whatever they need it for."

Jaime frowned. "And the charity pays for that? Or you do? Cause I can't imagine a charity like that drumming up all that much money for something people don't think is a necessity, and you said you couldn't even afford to fire me for moral reasons, but you can just dole out bespoke pieces at the drop of a hat - oh." He shifted his weight to his back foot. "You know I was wondering how a shop run by a Tyrell wasn't wildly successful, but this is it, isn't it? All your extra money goes to this side project."

Brienne didn't answer, and Jaime let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "You don't overcharge people, you believe me without proof, _and_ you give to charity instead of getting rich? Are you trying to win some sort of living saint award or something?" He shook his head. "What are the charities you work for? How do I donate to them?"

Blue flashed up at him, and then Brienne was concentrating on her adjusting again, making rough notes with the chalk and pausing every so often to write neater words in her notepad. "You don't have to do that."

"Oh gods above," Jaime muttered under his breath. "Has Margaery taught you _nothing_? When you stir the heart of a beautiful man who has both a lucrative career and a healthy trust fund, and he asks where to put the money, you tell him immediately!"

Brienne leaned back so that she could look up at him again. The corner of her mouth had turned up in the beginnings of amusement. "Did you just call yourself beautiful?"

Jaime threw up his hands, exasperated. "Yes, that is the thing to focus on."

She sat back, hugging one of her knees close to her chest and regarding him thoughtfully. Her hair looked particularly flat, but it was hard to concentrate on anything when he had to meet those eyes. She studied him, lips still twisted in a half-smile. "Do you really want to donate?"

"No, that's just something I say to all my tailors about their pet causes," Jaime snapped.

The smile continued to widen, though there was still a note of confusion as well. "Why?"

"Why - seriously, how has Margaery not barged in here to rip your head off for not taking money right away?" Brienne just continued to look at him, so Jaime let out a frustrated sigh and put his hands on his waist. "Okay, fine. It's a good cause, and it's run by a good person - that's you, in case you're wondering - and also, you're about a foot from my balls, so I'm feeling both very tense and very generous right now."

The edges of Brienne's eyes crinkled as she full-on grinned up at him, outlining the spots where there would be wrinkles appearing in a few years' time. A little self-consciously, he touched his face, where he knew the wrinkles were already forming, tiny crow's feet that deepened whenever he laughed or smiled. She looked so young, kneeling there, so innocent and hopeful.

He cleared his throat and broke their eye contact, looking across the room at nothing in particular. "Anyways, I'm surprised you need money at all. With Margaery and Loras' connections, I'd expect you guys to be having fundraisers every other week."

"Twice a year," Brienne corrected as she went back to work. "That's all we really have time for. Both of us want to succeed on our own merits, so instead of biweekly, it's biannually." She tugged a loose piece of lint from his leg, let it drop to the floor and then straightened. "The next one is at Midsummer. Your piece with the tailcoat will be done by then. You should come."

He couldn't get used to how close they were when she stood straight, just a few scant inches between his nose and hers, her hands on his chest as she gently pulled the shirt off him. Jaime waited until she was turned away, hanging the shirt up, before he asked, "How much for a plate?"

"$400." Brienne handed him the garment bag and turned away again, holding out an arm. "We have food and music and a silent auction."

Jaime shucked off his hands and tossed it over Brienne's outstretched arm. She reached for a hangar as he began to unravel the very not custom suit that he had picked up that afternoon. It was a deep, rich black, and it hung well on his form, but now that it had been pointed out to him, there were some wrinkles across his upper stomach. He frowned at them and straightened, before looking back at Brienne.

"I'm good. Are you going?"

"I have to go. It's a charity for my company." She walked over and began to tug at the suit, eyes flicking from shoulder to shoulder and seam to seam. "This is really nice." Her fingers skipped over his chest, and for a moment, Jaime could feel his heartbeat on her hands. "And your posture is better."

"My posture was always good," he grumbled. He stood still as she continued to survey him, making notes. "It's the 21st?"

Brienne made an affirmative noise as she tugged at the jacket and frowned, muttering to herself. Intensity was a good look on her, Jaime thought, wafts of concentration almost floating off the woman.

He didn't really understand why he was bothering to ask about the date or even anything about it at all. Parties had been nothing but a blackout disaster back when he had been drinking, and now, they were just a messy entanglement of too-loud music and personal problems. This would be even worse - a callback to the days before he had gone off to college, when Tywin had trotted him out to impress his business partners and politicians at every possible opportunity. He had perfected the art of the fake smile, but it wasn't something he was ever willing to return to.

But there was something deeply compelling about the towering figure before him and the knit of her eyebrows, the calluses on her finger pads that spoke of long hours of dedicated work, and the sound her voice had made when she was explaining what it had been like to have never felt comfortable in her own skin. It reminded Jaime of something, some far distant memory of the beginning of law school, when he'd considered working as a public defender or for a non-profit before -

Jaime shut down the memory hard.

"Are you alright?"

He blinked into Brienne's clear, blue eyes, which were far, far too close, as they had been all this time, and briefly wondered how there weren't more people like that redhead, just standing around and fawning over Brienne. _Aren't people obsessed with blue eyes? Who cares about her face - those eyes -_ They were wide with concern, and her mouth was slightly open as she stared at him, puzzled - _gods, she needs lip balm_ - Her lips had that thin layer of white glass skin over them that Jaime knew meant they were dry, and there was even a crack along the bottom, but something about them made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her and see if he could taste the good on her tongue. He could see every scar from teenage acne, blending in with the spray of brown freckles - how _had_ she gotten this close? Her hand was resting, terribly warm, on one of his shoulders, pen gripped between her middle and ring finger as she tugged at his collar. All he would have to do was lean forward just a few inches, and then he could figure out if honor was communicable.

"I'm fine," he snapped, brusquely, shifting his gaze and swallowing hard. _What am I even thinking? What is happening?_ "Are you done?"

Brienne stepped back, looking a little uncertain. "Uh - yes. I have everything I need."

"And you said it'll be done by Wednesday?"

"I can probably finish it by close of day tomorrow. There aren't very many changes to make."

Jaime nodded a few times and then began to pull off his suit jacket. "That's fine. I'll drop by around five. Is that good?" He chucked the jacket unceremoniously across the chair, pulling at the buttons to his shirt and pants as Brienne hastily grabbed the poor garment and averted her eyes. He grabbed his shorts from the chair and tugged them on, before scooping up his jacket and exiting swiftly, leaving a bewildered-looking Brienne in his wake.

Outside, in his car, Jaime took a moment to lean his head against the cool leather of his steering wheel and close his eyes. The second he did, Brienne's popped into his mind as he had seen them last, narrowed in concern. Jaime opened his eyes again, feeling his heart beating unnaturally fast in his chest.

_Now what the hell was that?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bar.

"What do you think? Would you trust me to get primary custody of your children?" 

Green flickered mischievously in her direction, and Brienne couldn't stop the red from conquering her cheeks. Jaime, normally handsome enough to make a singular buffalo think twice, was now so resplendent in a three-piece suit she'd probably fitted a little too well that he would likely be able to stop a whole herd. She resisted the urge to just admire her work and the man showing it off so nicely, instead folding her arms across her chest and replying, "I would trust you to seduce the judge." 

"Hm." Jaime shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning back to the mirror. "Same results." He looked himself up and down again, still with that half-grin on his face. 

It was an expression that she was growing far too used to seeing on his face. She had been worried when he had rushed out of their first appointment after his return to their client base, but he had shown up at the next one cheery as a spring day. He seemed to revel in quick quips and witty phrases that he knew would bring a blush to her cheeks, his eyes always tracking her expression, waiting for a laugh, a scowl - any reaction. Margaery had started making suggestive comments after her appointments with him, along with long-suffering sighs and, "He doesn't flirt with  _me_ , Brienne." 

"It's not flirting," she muttered to the Margaery of the past and soon-to-be future. 

"What was that?" Jaime glanced over his shoulder, adjusting his tie as he did so. "You talking to yourself, Brienne? Has my presence had some mind-altering effects on you?" 

She could feel the heat rise, knew that the conquering red would be following it all too soon, and shot back, "Yeah, you're going to annoy me to death." His grin widened, and she fought the urge to smile back. "Are you done admiring yourself? I can go put it in the bag and get you ready to go once you take it off." 

"Why, Brienne," and Jaime pressed a hand to his chest in a manner that would have made any number of Shakespearean actors proud, "Are you rushing a customer? Now that's not very good business, is it? Besides, I like admiring myself." 

It was impossible not to snort at that, and then, Jaime looked so pleased with himself that she had to smile, just for a second. He took one more look at himself and then let sighed. "But alright. I suppose I can accommodate you, since you did create this work of art for  _this_ work of art." He tugged at the tie, pulling it loose, as he ducked into the fitting room. 

Once the suit had been carefully placed into a garment bag, Brienne led Jaime back into the main showroom, where Margaery was sitting idly on her phone. She looked up as they walked in and smiled, placing the phone on the counter. 

"All good?" She reached over the counter to scan the tag at the bottom of the bag and then began typing at the computer. "So that's the last one. We're going to miss you around here, Jaime." 

"You're going to have to tell her that," Jaime whispered loudly, jerking his thumb over at Brienne. "She's trying to rush me out." 

In mock shock, Margaery covered her mouth with a hand, "Brienne! Were you rushing this nice man?" 

"Oh my gods," Brienne muttered under her breath. "Who ever let the two of you meet?" 

"Don't worry," Margaery reassured Jaime. "That's how she acts towards everyone she loves." She winked, tapping at her mouse. "You're in good company." 

"Love?" Jaime made a show of eying Brienne up and down, a move that she knew he knew ran the blush ratio up faster than anything else. "It's a little early for that, but I could probably be persuaded." 

"Don't worry. No one's going to try." Brienne thrust the bag at Jaime. "Leave." 

Jaime clucked his tongue. "Now, now, Brienne, is that any way to treat a paying customer?" 

"You've already paid," Brienne pointed out, unable to suppress a smug smile. "Played your hand a little early there." 

"Yes, next time I'll be sure to withhold payment," Jaime replied dryly. He leaned to the side so that he could look past her at Margaery. "Hey Marge? Am I still invited to drinks tonight?" 

"What?" Brienne asked, startled, both by the idea and by Jaime's usage of Margaery's pet name. 

"Oh, of course," Margaery said, seemingly blazing by any disbelief on Brienne's part. "Brienne doesn't drink that much either, so you two can talk while the rest of us dance." 

" _What?_ " 

"Oh come on," Margaery said, reaching out to lightly slap Brienne's shoulder. "You never like dancing with us." 

"But -" 

"See you tonight, Jaime!" 

 

* * *

 

 

"So what's this we hear about Jaime Lannister joining us tonight?" 

Loras slung an arm around Brienne's shoulders, a movement that set him at a Dutch tilt given that he was almost half a foot shorter than his much larger friend, and raised his eyebrows at Margaery, who was flagging down the bartender. 

"We haven't seen him since that dinner Cersei went arsonist," Renly remarked. He leaned in to kiss Margaery lightly on the cheek and stood on tip-toes to do the same to Brienne. The smile on his face was warm, soft. "Hey Brienne. Hey Marge." 

"Hi, Renly," Brienne replied quietly. It had been a long time since her childhood crush on Renly Baratheon, but there was still something about his smile. She wondered if she'd ever be unaffected by it. 

"Hey Ren. Can I get a grasshopper, please?" She winked at the bartender, a younger woman dressed in all leather, and then leaned back to look at her brother. "What about it?" 

"Is he really coming?" Loras demanded. "That dude doesn't even drink." 

"He's  _never_ come out with us," Renly added. "He doesn't even have a glass at dinner. How'd you get him to agree to this?" 

A little smugly, Margaery crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands primly on top. "Well, you guys didn't have a secret weapon, did you?" She smiled at Brienne, who groaned. 

"Excuse me?" Loras asked flatly as Renly said, "Brienne?" 

"Oh my gods, Margaery," Brienne muttered, covering her face. 

"Are you fucking Jaime Lannister, Brienne Tarth?" Loras' hand on her shoulder tightened as he squeezed it. "What the hell, girl?! You can't land a catch like that and not say anything about it!" 

"I am  _not_ fucking him," Brienne hissed. "Keep your voice down. The entire bar can hear you." 

"I want them to," Loras replied, though he did lower his volume with his next words, "Are you close to fucking Jaime Lannister?" 

" _No,_ " Brienne insisted. "He's a customer. It'd be completely inappropriate." 

Loras snickered. "Uh, you might want to tell that to your business partner. Haven't you slept with half your customer base, Margaery." 

The brunette grinned. "We're talking about Brienne and Jaime. You should hear the way they go back and forth." She spread out a hand, sweeping it in front of her in an arch. "Fireworks." 

"He's been getting suits from your shop, right?" Renly asked. "Has that been going well?" 

Brienne focused on Renly, trying very hard to not see the lascivious eyebrow wags that Margaery was directly in Loras' direction. "It has. He just picked up the last one tonight." 

Loras raised a finger in an 'ah-ha' gesture. "So he's not a customer anymore. You gonna fuck him now?" 

"Yes," Margaery said. 

" _No!_ " Brienne cried. 

"No what?" 

The voice, pitched low and aimed close enough to her ear that she could feel the breath of air, sent a shiver down her back, and Brienne had to resist the urge to jump backwards. She counted to five in her head and then slowly turned her head so that she could find the source. 

Jaime stood at her back, wearing a scarlet dress shirt that had dropped the top few buttons. He slipped onto the stool on Brienne's right and nodded at the others. His jeans were of the too tight variety again, Brienne noted absently as he brought his legs around. It was an impossibly good look on him, one that was already starting to attract attention from passersby. 

"So what are we yelling about?" He asked, settling his weight back on the counter. "Just water, thanks," he added to the bartender as she came skating by. 

"How much you want to fuck Bri -" Loras's words were cut off abruptly as Brienne disentangled her shoulders from his grip and smacked a hand over his mouth. He struggled for a moment and then, upon meeting Brienne's eyes, went still, though Brienne could tell from the set of his jaw that he was pouting. 

"How much you want to fuck Brienne," Margaery finished helpfully. She scooped up her drink from the counter and raised it at Brienne impishly, before taking a sip. 

"Yeah?" Jaime's voice was still low, almost inaudible underneath the throbbing music and endless chatter from folks around them. "I mean, I do, but still, yelling about it in a nightclub? That's a little much." 

Brienne pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand and let go of Loras. "Stop encouraging them," she ordered. She muscled her way between Jaime and Margaery, grateful that if nothing else, at least the dimly lit surroundings would make it almost impossible for anyone to see her skin change color. "Whiskey neat, please." 

When she pulled herself back again, she found Jaime regarding her with something halfway between amused and thoughtful. "I really shouldn't have expected anything less. You don't drink mixed drinks, Brienne?" 

She shrugged, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. "This is easier." 

"Brienne, sit with me," Margaery ordered. She scooted over until half the barstool was empty and patted it commandingly. 

Obediently, Brienne sat and then immediately realized why Margaery would ask her, a larger than average human being, to share what was already a normally small barstool. The stools were stacked closely together, and her knee was now pressed firmly into Jaime's thigh, the rest of her still uncomfortably close. Brienne elbowed Margaery, who smiled widely and leaned her head on Brienne's shoulder. 

"So, Jaime, how's working with Tyrion been?" Renly asked. He took a sip from his beer, something locally brewed and as hipster as one could get. "Is he a good boss?" 

"Yeah, it's great being ordered around by your little brother," Jaime replied dryly. He accepted his glass of water with a quick word of thanks and took a drink. "It's fine. Honestly, I thought it would be way worse than it is, but under all the squabbling, some of those people actually care about their children. Tyrion's weirdly good at bringing that side out." He smiled, a fond expression that probably could have melted several icebergs and was certainly nudging Brienne's heart. 

"Well, he's had the firm for years now," Loras pointed out. "He had to have picked up some things. Is he still married to that girl?" 

"Tysha?" Jaime asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Loras. They have been for ten years." 

"Gods, that's so long. They're way too domestic. Disgusting," Loras muttered, with a fake shudder. 

Renly wrapped an arm around him, grinning. "Yes, loving, childhood romances are the worst, aren't they?" He kissed the edge of Loras' mouth tenderly and then looked back at Jaime. "Family dinners are unbearable now that you're both gone. All there is for me to do is keep Loras from overdrinking and asking Myrcella and Tommen how their lives are going." 

"How are they?" 

"Sweet now, but give them a couple years," Loras interjected. "Puberty's a bitch." 

"I have faith in Tommen," Margaery said. "He's always been nice." 

"Which is a miracle in that house," Loras added. He waggled his bottle at Jaime and Brienne. "Anyways, who cares about that. Tell us about how much you wanna fuck Brienne." 

_He is an actor. Maybe I could frame it as a paparazzi ambush gone bad. Paparazzi can be dangerous. He was startled. Fell off a cliff. Body never to be found again…_  It was too bad the old matriarch was so protective of her family. Kind as Olenna had been to Brienne, she doubted the courtesy would extend if she took out her favorite grandson. 

Jaime was actually responding to Loras' query as if it was a serious question that deserved a real answer. "What do you want to know? There's so many places this could go." He grinned at Brienne. "That rhymed." 

"Well done," Brienne replied sardonically, though she had to admit there was something charming about the juxtaposition of suave and childlike. "Should I alert the media?" 

"Nah," Jaime responded amiably. "I want to stay low profile. Close to my roots." 

Brienne looked around them, staring pointedly at the neon colored lights, scantily clad individuals, and the endless stink of intoxication. "Are you  _sure?_ " 

"What's the matter?" Jaime shifted so that she could see his pupils, blown wide by their dim surroundings. "Don't like watching drunk people make poor decisions?" His hand on the counter was brushing her arm, the touch sending the slightest shiver down her back. Her eyes flicked downwards to his lips, thin, an off-shade of rose gray - 

"Oh my  _gods_." Loras made a gagging noise and mimed choking himself. "I change my mind. I don't want to know. Just watching you makes me wanna vomit." 

Margaery reached over the counter to grab the green substance being offered to her and then hopped off the barstool. "Enough of that," she ordered, taking a sip. "Let's go. Bye, Brienne, Jaime!" She fluttered her fingers at them both and then, one arm hooked through one of Renly's, vanished across the dance floor. 

"I'm gonna kill them," Brienne muttered under her breath. 

Unruffled, Jaime asked, "All of them? I'm pretty fond of Renly." 

"No, he can live. The other two -" Brienne raised a hand to receive her glass of whiskey and brought it down with a clunk on the counter. 

"Crushed by whiskey glasses," Jaime noted, with an understanding nod. "What a way to go." 

She shot him a glare, hating a little how utterly collected he looked. "And you," she accused, "Do you really have to edge them on? You know Loras and Margaery. They'll jump on anything. Stop feeding them lies." 

"What lies?" Jaime asked, voice perfectly bland. He peered at her over the water glass. "That I want to have sex with you?" He shook his head. "Why do you think it's a lie?" 

She snorted, incredulous. "I get that making fun of people is your forte, but this isn't super funny." 

"You think it's impossible to be attracted to you?" 

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I might not be one of Loras' model friends, but I know that people can have different tastes." 

"Like that redhead who asked you out," he noted. 

"Like him," Brienne confirmed. "But Margaery has shown me the kinds of people you dated. She likes to look people up," she added by way of explanation. "I don't look anything like them." 

Jaime reached over to take her glass, lifting it up to his nose and taking a long, deep whiff before replacing it on the wood. "You don't think tastes can change?" 

She wished that he'd stop using that too calm, too neutral tone. It was impossible to tell what he was really thinking, especially when the rest of his face matched his voice. Brienne tried to draw her voice to the same even level and then said, "Maybe. Have they?" She rubbed her shoulder absently, feeling her heart thud against her skin. 

_What am I even nervous for? What am I expecting?_

He blinked at her slowly - it reminded her of Margaery's cat, Pounce. He liked to watch everything, leaving all in the apartment quite unaware of whether or not he was going to purr or hiss. 

"They haven't." 

Her hand clenched around the glass as she tried to ignore the similar feeling in her gut, before Brienne forced herself to relax. She lifted the glass to her lips. "Well, like I said -" 

"I've always liked stubbornness," Jaime interrupted. "Pride. I'm a fundamentally lazy person, so I like people who have some force behind their personality. I like going with the flow." He shrugged his shoulders, glancing to the side. "Clearly, that hasn't always worked out for me, but -" He broke off, rubbing his chin. "I never really had a type, Brienne. You're funny. You're good at what you do, and also, you are just plain good." His eyes were back on her again, mesmerizing. "It took me a while to figure out, but of course, I find you attractive." 

The slight forward tilt to Jaime's posture now grew much more pronounced as he leaned forward on the stool. His eyelashes looked even longer than they normally did in the shadowy light, every blink bringing wispy darkness soaring across his cheekbones. Her heart had started again, drumming to a rhythm the rest of her couldn't quite figure out. Jaime's breath was starting to mix with her own - 

"Wildling!* You make my heart sing! You pull my -"

Jaime's eyes shuttered closed, and he muttered something under his breath before pulling back. "Give me a second. Tyrion thinks it's funny to change my ringtone." He drew a phone from his back pocket and angled away. "What?" 

Brienne swallowed hard and picked up her glass again, trying to ignore the shaking in her hands, as Jaime spoke sharply into the phone. The whiskey tasted like ash on her tongue, and she raised a hand to try to catch the bartender's attention. 

"Could I have a water, please?" 

The leather-clad individual gave Brienne a once over and then handed her a glass before turning away to take another order. Brienne took a gulp of the water, focusing on the coldness. 

"Hey." A hand landed on her shoulder - Jaime's. She made herself look up at him, willing herself to be calm. There was a grimace on his face. "I have to go. Tyrion's having an emergency. We'll talk at dinner, okay?" 

"Dinner?" Brienne asked, confused. 

He grinned, the hand on her shoulder squeezing tight for a moment, before he let go. "The fundraiser dinner, right? Don't worry. I'll make sure to bring father's wallet." He lifted a hand and waved, twirling his fingers. "See you then, Brienne." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you're curious about what this is from, I took it from the song Kit Harrington sang to Leslie Rose for the Game of Thrones musical on Red Nose Day. If you haven't heard it, check it out! It's both hilarious and surprisingly good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is porn (...outfit porn).

 

 

 

"Should you really be going to this thing?"

Tyrion poked his head out from where he stood, halfway obscured by the door to his walk-in closet. "What? Why not?"

"Why not?" Jaime repeated, mostly to himself. "He asks 'why not' - Tyrion, you had surgery. The doctor said to take it easy."

His response was a flapping of a flippant hand and Tyrion ducking back into the closet. "That was two weeks ago. I'll be fine. Besides, do you really think a charity dinner is going to be that strenuous?"

"I think the amount you're going to drink is going to make it strenuous," Jaime muttered under his breath. He flipped open the front camera on his phone and took another look at himself. His bowtie had somehow managed to become crooked again for what had to be a record-setting number in the past hour. "You know, when you said that we could go together, I didn't think you meant I would come over and sit on your bed for an hour while you try to decide what to wear."

"He still hasn't chosen yet?"

The voice came from a slender individual at the doorway, dressed in a lavender cocktail dress with a simple black belt. She was in the process of pulling half her hair up above her head, arms stretched long.

"Tyrion, sweetheart, are you torturing your brother?"

Tyrion disentangled himself from a shockingly green shirt and strolled over to his wife, stretching up to give her a kiss on the lips. "I would never, Tysha, my love. You look splendid in that dress."

Tysha smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she did so. "You say that about everything I wear."

"Well, it must be because you look splendid in everything," Tyrion announced.

Jaime made a retching noise, though he couldn't suppress a smile at the exchange as well. When he had been off at his sophomore year of college and Tyrion had been just starting high school, Jaime had received a phone call from their father, seemingly timed perfectly to coincide with the last night's hangover. Tyrion, Tywin had discovered, had been seeing some girl, but not from the boarding school that their father paid whole commoner salaries into on a biannual basis - no, he had chosen someone from _public_ school, a word Tywin had said with the same tone most people used about _moist_.

Obediently, Jaime had helped his father end the relationship, but years later, when he had been just ending his alcoholic days, he had confessed the truth to Tyrion. His little brother had been infuriated and distraught, but as if the gods had heard his angry words, Tysha had reappeared in his life. She had been small and plain and so lower middle-class at the time that Tywin's head had damn near exploded just by proximity, but she had been kind, too, good. Tyrion, who had moved on with supermodels and reality TV stars, the most societally beautiful of the beautiful, had been smitten once again. When Tywin had threatened to disown him, he had left the family.

It had been an act of courage that Jaime had admired at the time, almost as much as he admired the tenacity he and Tysha had shown over the next few years as they worked and studied and put themselves through law and medical school respectively. Jaime had never thought he would have the same courage.

 _I guess I should thank Cersei,_ he thought, the smile morphing into a grimace. _Without her, I might never have left to join Tyrion, and father would still be hoping I might suddenly become his golden boy._

"Tysha," he said abruptly to distract himself from uneasy thoughts, "Tell Tyrion that he should probably stay home and sleep."

Tysha cupped Tyrion's face, examining it and then knelt so that she could lift up his shirt and examine the stitches in his stomach. The wound was small, the emergent hernia repair having been done laparoscopically. "The wound looks fine to me. Any pain?" She pressed gently around Tyrion's lower abdomen. "No?" Tysha looked back at Jaime and gave a helpless shrug. "Don't push yourself, and I would skip the heavy food, but you should be fine."

"Dammit, Tysha," Jaime muttered half-heartedly under his breath.

"Thank you, my sunlight," Tyrion said, taking Tysha's hand. "Come help me pick something out."

Rolling his eyes, Jaime pulled out his phone. He had pulled up the email invitation earlier, so it was still front and center on the screen. In addition to cardstock, handwritten invites that he had received in the mail a week earlier, Margaery and Brienne had also sent out an email replica, for those attendees who didn't want to mess about with hardcopies. The calligraphy was likely Margaery's, based on their similar to _Sew What?'s_ chalkboard signs, reading:

_Summer Solstice Charity Ball_

_Thank you for preparing to join us at this year's Summer Solstice Charity Ball._  
_We're delighted that you can join us._  
_Please bring this card with you as your entry ticket._

_Theme: Fey Wonders_

_Date/Time: 21st of June, 7:00pm (Dinner at 8:30pm)_

_Place: Titania's Foyer, Seelie Court, Crescent Way_

_Table: 16_

He took a moment to admire the craftsmanship and then stood up and walked over to the mirror. His bowtie was, unsurprisingly crookedly once more - he was beginning to think that it had just been made like that - but the rest of his outfit, all handmade by Brienne, was doing beautifully, the swallow-tail dress coat fanning out subtly past his waist, front open to review his stiff-collared white shirt, onto which the red bowtie projected starkly. He had decided on a simple pocket square, so his outfit felt quite plain, but he looked forward to not standing out from the crowd for once in his life.

A clatter came from the closet, and a second later, Tyrion swung the door open again, now dressed in a sleek silver number that just barely didn't cast its own light. Jaime raised an eyebrow as Tyrion began to bow to an invisible audience.

"How was that so fast?"

"My darling wife is the pinnacle of efficiency, decisiveness, and everything else good in the work all in one perfect package." Tyrion took the bowtie Tysha handed him and began to fiddle with it.

"Plus, the rest of his stuff is not in presentable condition," Tysha told Jaime with a smile. "Are you okay if we drop this stuff off with the dry cleaner's on our way over?"

Jaime nodded, and 20 minutes later, they were out the door. The drive was smooth and uneventful, and they arrived at the midtown building named Seelie Court at five minutes to eight.

The Seelie Court, bequeathed with that name by a particularly romantic individual of the near distant past, had once been a privately owned mansion that had since passed into public hands. It normally existed as an art museum, but on occasion, people with the right connections could rent it out. Jaime suspected that the family name must have gotten dropped in this case, regardless of whatever Brienne had said about the two of them wanting to strive out on their own. It was too big a get otherwise.

Their car slowed as they went through the black iron gates, wrought at the top with cherubic figures, pointing bows into the air. The road terminated in a wide road in front of the stairs to the main doors, which were draped in red carpet. A cluster of cameras and news reporters stood behind wide, black ropes, all at the ready.

"Wow. Little more high profile than I was expecting," Tyrion commented dryly. "I thought this was a charity dinner?"

"The invitation said a ball," Tysha pointed out. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear nervously.

Jaime eyed the line of lens, feeling uneasy. He hadn't had to deal with the media since the judge had declared that mistrial, but he had no goodwill towards any of them. "It's a Tyrell party," he said at last. "Should have expected this, I guess."

There was a knock at their window, which lowered itself to reveal a young man in a clean-cut black suit. "Uh -" His eyes flicked between the three of them before settling on Jaime. "Mr. Lannister?"

"Yes?" Tyrion and Jaime said in unison. Tyrion grinned at his older brother and then leaned in to whisper something in Tysha's ear as Jaime rolled his eyes and waved at the young man.

"Oh, uh -" The young man frowned, looking at Tyrion for a moment and then back at Jaime. "Ms. Tarth said that you might not feel comfortable coming through the front entrance. If you'll have your driver pull around to the back, I can have someone escort you to the ballroom. "

Something soft melted in the left-center of Jaime's chest, leaving him unable to do anything, but nod and gesture to the driver. As they began to start up again, he sank back against the leather of the car, covering up a growing smile.

 

* * *

 

"Oh gods, darling, you look splendid."

Ellaria leaned in to give Brienne a quick, loud peck on both cheeks and then held her out at arm's length, her dark, velvet eyes taking in every detail. She shook her head, smiling in a way that made it impossible not to return the look. Ellaria was not traditionally beautiful, but she had strong bones carved in a way that made her expressions seem both more sincere and more intense. That combined with her impeccable fashion sense, which had placed her in an orange dress with a similarly colored drape and a plunging neckline that revealed a burnished gold bra beneath it, had combined to make sure that she always received the right amount of attention.

"Really, I thought I might have a chance to be named best-dressed today, but between you and Margaery, I suppose I'll just have to kiss that one away."

"Thank you, Ellaria," Brienne murmured. "It's good to see you again. Thanks for coming."

"Of course. I would never miss this. You have, in my uncultured opinion," and Ellaria gave her a wink, "Some of the best craftsmanship in this decade. Between that, the auction, and the chance to support a good cause?" She squeezed Brienne's shoulders one last time and then let go. "It's my honor, really, darling." She shook her head. "Oberyn is very upset that he can't make the festivities."

Earnestly, Brienne shook her head. "We understand. He's, um, he has a lot of things to deal with."

"Oh please," and Ellaria flapped a hand in utter disdain, "The royal family of Martell doesn't actually do anything. It's a purely celebrational role, but they needed someone high up to be there. Speaking of," Ellaria took Brienne's hands within her own, "You and Margaery find me later, okay? I have some very exciting news that I think the two of you are going to want to hear, but I don't want to have to tell it more than once."

Brienne nodded. "One of the pieces just arrived. Margaery's just making sure it gets to the right place."

"Leaving you with door duty." The other woman's eyes twinkled. "You're doing wonderfully, darling. I'm going to go mingle. Don't forget, okay?"

She glided off, and Brienne turned to her next guest. Podrick, dressed in a very classic black tailcoat with a splash of purple and gold, was the one who was actually on door duty, greeting people as soon as they stepped into the room and helping to organize the ushers and attendants, but she would step in after coats had been taken, greeting most individuals by name and giving them personal thanks. It was something she had gotten a little better at after almost three years, but she still preferred when Margaery was by her side. Gilly, event coordinator for one of the local charities, had run into traffic on the way over, and so it was just her for the moment.

A flash of deep green caught her attention as she finished with the middle-aged couple she was talking to, and she glanced at the doorway. Renly and Loras were walking through the door, Renly dressed in a dark number with bright golden buttons and a similarly golden bowtie, a little garish, but still formal enough, unlike his husband. Loras was wearing, under a large overcoat that had been flung open, a forest grass green piece with a matching gold bowtie, and he had dug up a top hat as well, also green, emblazon with barely visible golden roses that gave the headpiece a slightly psychedelic vibe.

Brienne watched, biting her lip to keep from bursting into laughter, as Loras dramatically surrendered the hat and his overcoat to one of Podrick's assistants. As they approached, she could see that the outfit itself had gold embroidery over the hem and collar, again roses.

"Olenna must be so proud," she said when they were in earshot.

"The theme is fey wonders," Loras pointed out as he leaned in for a hug. "I wasn't going to go off theme, Brienne."

"Of course not," she replied solemnly. "It's good to see you, too. You both look very nice."

"You do, too, Brienne," Renly said. "Sorry we didn't have these made at your place, but you were so booked up then. We'll come to you in the future."

"You'd better," came Margaery's voice, and Brienne glanced over her shoulder to take in her business partner and best friend. Both the pieces that they were wearing had been made by Brienne, but the finer details for Margaery's, they'd had to call in a specialist.

After the initial shape had been completed, completely white, but otherwise simple enough, Margaery had had real rose petals pressed into the fabric, so now, she had a veritable bouquet plastered across her shoulders and heading down the end of her tailcoats in a manner that reminded Brienne somewhat of a cape or perhaps a pair of wings. Her hair had been pulled into a half-bun, with more roses, plated in gold, used to hold them in place.

"You always try to outdo me, don't you?"

Margaery gave Loras a half-smirk. "Oh brother dear, I don't even have to try." She gestured at the couple. "Go mingle. Get us that money."

 

* * *

 

Jaime walked into the ballroom and was instantly smacked with the faint scent of flowers, though he had no idea what kind. It made him feel vaguely like he was walking into meadow, which he was certain was the desired effect. The room had a giant domed ceiling, on which there were illustrations of a fairy queen leading her court in dance. There were wall lights fashioned in the shape of cats, and off their heads and tails hung garlands of vines with speckled white flowers.

"Oh, it's lovely," Tysha breathed. She reached out to a nearby vine and touched a flower. "And it's real." She looked around, eyes wide. "This is wonderful. Thank you for inviting us, Jaime."

"Don't thank him. We paid 800 each to get in."

"You only had to pay 400," Jaime reminded him, eyes dropping from the decorations and falling on the crowd of people, which was steadily growing larger.

"As if I was going to low-end a charity," Tyrion said back primly. "Who do you think I am? Our father?"

Jaime had to smile at that. He himself had given an extra 600 on top of the base 400, but it was always a little endearing to see Tyrion's softer side, regardless of how he might talk.

"So where're your friends?" Tyrion asked.

"Probably meeting and greeting. They are running this," Jaime pointed out. The three of them began to walk into crowd, Jaime steadfastly ignoring any side eyes he got, both the lusty and the suspicious ones. He was becoming more and more certain that he might never find Brienne or Margaery or anyone else he knew or cared about in the crowd when Tyrion's voice attracted his attention.

"My gods, that's an Amazon."

"She's pretty tall," Jaime agreed as he turned to look at Tyrion's source of shock. It could only be Brienne, after all. His eyes flicked over the little hills of people -

Jaime felt the back of his throat go dry in the moment of recognition, and he swallowed hard.

Brienne was standing near the main entrance, positively _towering_ over the crowd. As they drew closer to them, he noted why: on her feet were white heels that propped her up at least another three or four inches, meaning that the normally tall Brienne was positively statuesque. Aside from their height, the shoes were rather plain, as was the rest of Brienne's outfit, a robin's egg suit with black buttons and almost flared pant legs, but it all came together to emphasis the absolute length of Brienne.

Her hair had been slicked back so that it almost looked like a helmet, but somehow stylish, instead of plain, and someone had done something to her eyes so that they stood out even more than usual. It felt like he was being hypnotized the moment those eyes found him, and her face lit up for a second, before Brienne seemingly got it under control. She lifted a hand, Margaery turning to look for him herself, and then both figures began to make their way over, the groups of people parting before her truly magnificent form.

 _Not an Amazon, though,_ Jaime thought absently. _A goddess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your continued readership and comments! It's really so wonderful, and I can't express how thankful I am. Unfortunately, I'm going to be quite busy starting soon, so my update schedule will move to biweekly instead of weekly. I hope you'll stay patient with me and continue to read!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a surprise.

There was something very appealing about realizing that she was now almost a half a head taller than Jaime Lannister, though not quite as appealing as the fit of her work on Jaime's body. It sent a rush of pride through her to see him wearing something that she had made, and based on the looks people were stealing, she wasn't the only one who approved.

_Though they'd probably approve if he was naked. Maybe more so._ Brienne quickly shoved that thought and the accompanying image down and gave Jaime a small smile. "Thank you for coming." Before she could change her mind, she moved closer, as she had done for a variety of associates and friends on that day and others before it, and gave Jaime a quick hug, feeling briefly breathless as his arms wrapped around her waist. She pulled back, willing her hands to not linger and looked at Margaery.

"And you brought friends." Margaery smiled at Tysha and Tyrion. "Mr. Tyrion Lannister, is that right?" She held out her hand. "Margaery Tyrell. I don't believe we've met before."

"No, I don't think so. I was out of the family fold when Renly and Loras were married, so I didn't attend." Tyrion reached up to shake Margaery's hand. Jaime's little brother was a far cry from what she had imagined, with a stature that spoke of stunted growth. His face was as gnarled as hers, but there was a distinguished cut to his mixed dark and pale hair, and intelligence shown clearly in his cat-like eyes, one Jaime's shade of green and the other as dark as the black parts of his hair.

"Well, it's a pleasure to be able to meet you now." Margaery's smile was warm and genuine, and she held Tyrion's hand for a moment before turning to Tysha. "And Dr. Tysha Lannister, correct?"

"She memorized the guest list," Brienne murmured to Jaime quietly as Tysha smiled shyly and took the hostess' hand. "Every name, face, and title."

The side of Jaime's mouth twitched in the slightest smirk. "What, not their hobbies and families, too?" He quipped, voice quiet.

"Give her a minute," Brienne replied.

Instead, Jaime shifted a little closer to her and whispered, "You look good."

Self-consciously, Brienne smoothed down the front of her suit and then immediately clamped her hands together to prevent any further similar movement. She didn't need to turn into a teenager just because a man modeled after Apollo himself had given her a compliment.

_Not even a creative compliment,_ she thought, though it had still been enough to turn her stomach over pleasantly. "I have to look good," she pointed out, keeping her voice even. "We are a clothing-based store. No one would donate anything if we looked sloppy."

He gave her a side smile as Margaery mentioned something about oil paintings and the auction in an offhand manner that made Tysha's eyes light up - there was a study in her house with Tyrion that was dedicated to her painting supplies. "Ah. She doesn't disappoint. She knows this about _all_ the guests?"

"Margaery's very good with people," Brienne said softly. "She learns quickly."

"And you?" He snatched a puff pastry appetizer from a passing tray and popped it into his mouth. "What've you learned?"

_You have the prettiest face ever made,_ whispered Brienne's mind. _You like to poke and joke, and I think you used to be cruel, but you haven't been to me. I don't know why. And you've said you're attracted to me more than once. I still can't tell if you're joking. You act like you don't care, but I think it almost kills you how much you do. And you might even be good, under all the snark and accusations and shields._

She didn't say any of that, of course. Instead, she replied, straightforwardly, "I don't memorize things about guests. I just talk to the ones who I know and greet the others so they know I exist."

"Nice division of labor."

"Brother dearest," came Tyrion's voice, raised in a singsong pitch meant to irritate, "Please stop hogging the other half of the enterprise that we came to this party for." Tyrion stepped in front of Jaime, tilting his head up to look at Brienne. "Did you wear those heels specifically so I would have to get a crick in my neck to see your face?"

Brienne bit back a grin and shook her head. "I apologize, Mr. Lannister. My name is Brienne Tarth."

"No need for apologies," Tyrion replied cheerfully. "It's always worth it to meet someone the world finds almost as much of a freak as me. Well met, Ms. Tarth. Thank you for saving us all from the sight of my brother in cargo shorts."

There was something almost endearing about Tyrion's self-deprecating half-insult, and Brienne found herself smiling at Jaime's little brother despite herself. "It was a honor to be able to do so."

"Excuse both of you. I happen to look good in cargo shorts," Jaime interrupted haughtily.

Tyrion shook his head at Brienne in a conspiratorially manner that made her chuckle and then quickly cover it up at Jaime's mock offended expression. "So, tell me more about this charity. Jaime said it was a good cause, but he hasn't actually given me any real details about it."

"Here," Margaery offered. "Let me introduce you to our colleagues on the actual charity side. We provide a lot of services at reduced costs, but they take care of most of the logistics."

"I read there would be a speaker as well?" Tysha asked as she and Tyrion followed Margaery into the crowd.

"Yes, after dinner…"

Their voices blended in with the rest of them, leaving Jaime and Brienne standing together amongst the bustling herds of people. He was sipping from a glass of what looked like carbonated water, gazing into the crowd.

"It's quite a crowd," he commented. There were tall tables scattered around the room, and he made his way over to one, leaning his weight onto it and causing it to tip dangerously. "All clients of the shop?"

She hastily placed her arms onto the table, forcing it back to the ground and frowning at Jaime, who only smiled angelically back. "Most of them. Some of them are family friends - Olenna didn't come, but Willas is here. He's -"

"Loras and Margaery's older brother," Jaime finished. "I've met him. Boring guy, but then I suppose at least one of them had to be."

"He's very kind," Brienne protested, though privately, she had to agree. Willas was the very definition of pleasant and not much else. "Anyways, he's around and some of his business partners - a lot of Loras' coworkers -"

"I noticed. With the red carpet, we might as well be at a movie premiere," Jaime quipped. "I didn't think he had that many friends."

Brienne sucked in her cheeks to stop the snort. When she had control of herself, she continued, "It's some of our friends, too. We do consulting sometimes or costume design for movies and some of the local theaters."

Jaime nodded thoughtfully and lifted the glass to his lips again. Brienne's eyes traced the line of his neck as he tilted his head back, and then she quickly turned her attention to the rest of the room. It wasn't quite quick enough as she caught a flash of amused green in her direction just before she looked away.

"And our business partners are here, too," she said hurriedly. "That's Jon Snow and his cousin Sansa Stark. They supply us with fabrics and materials. Sansa's a family friend, too. She's the daughter of -"

"Ned Stark," Jaime supplied. "Yes, I know him." His eyes were frosty as he surveyed the two slim figures, one dark-haired, the other with flaming locks. "He was one of the partners at the law firm that tried to get me convicted of corporate espionage and conspiracy to murder after Aerys went down. Nice fellow." He glanced at Brienne. "You said they're family friends?"

"My dad," Brienne explained, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The ice had not left Jaime's expression, and it changed something about his whole demeanor. "He's a college professor. Mr. Stark did a semester abroad in Tarth, and they became friends."

"And that's how you came to know his daughter?"

"They visited us in the summer. I babysat Sansa and all her siblings, and when we found out that Jon was starting a textile shop around the same time we were starting the tailor shop…" She shrugged. "It worked out." She chewed on her lip momentarily and then added, "They're - they've been good friends for a long time. Catelyn - Sansa's mother - she - she convinced my dad that it would be okay for me to go to college outside Tarth. I really owe a lot to her - to them."

His face remained stony for another moment, and then there seemed to be a break in the dam. Up went the glass again, obscuring his face, and when it came down, there was that wry twist at the corner of his mouth again, which Brienne was starting to feel was almost painted on. "So," he began amiably, "What've you got planned for the auction? Anything interesting?"

"Uhh…" Brienne thought for a moment. "We have tickets for the premiere of _Sun and Stars_ with backstage passes to meet the cast -"

"That Drogo fellow, right? My niece is obsessed with him."

"Yeah. His wife's brother went out with Margaery a few times." Brienne made a face, shuddering at the memory. "He was terrible, but he was a Targaryen," she said by way of explanation to Jaime's quizzical look. "Margaery likes brand names."

Jaime snickered, and it was a little marvelous how warm the sound could be. "She came to her senses?"

"Yeah, but she became friends with Daenerys. Apparently, she's a big improvement on her brother. And Drogo is nice, I've met him."

"And _hot_ ," Jaime added, raising his voice in what Brienne assumed to be a poor imitation of his niece. "Plus, he's tall. You should get with that."

Brienne rolled her eyes. "I just told you he was married."

"Yeah, but you're tall and sublime enough to tempt anyone."

She ploughed forward instead of acknowledging the remark, saying, "There's a week-long vacation to Tarth, another one to Dorne - a magazine editor we know donated that one, a private dinner for two cooked by Ben Hawkey...some art that's been put up from private collections…oh, our friend Sam - Samwell, he's the husband of Gilly, the coordinator of _All Women_ \- he's a photographer, so he's offering a private photo shoot."

" _All Women -_ That's one of the charities you work with?" A gaggle of the crowd passed unusually close to their table, and Brienne noted darting eyes that Jaime resolutely did not look back at. She caught whispers as well, just on the far side of audible, but she understood the gist.

_People never stop talking._ She nodded. "They work mostly with women who can't afford business clothing. And we work with Sam sometimes, too. He helps us when we need to update our advertising."

"And you have Margaery or Loras to use as your models." He raised his glass at her in a mock toast. "I must say, you guys know how to use the people in your life. Very resourceful."

"It's half Margaery's business - and Loras volunteers!" Brienne shot back.

"Of course, he does. I've never met a bigger narcissist."

"Have you looked in a mirror?" Brienne muttered under her breath, though she knew that it wasn't quite quiet enough to go unheard. Jaime grinned at her.

"I'm not a narcissist. My pride is justified. Have you seen me?" He swept a hand down his body, and Brienne felt her eyes follow the motion, before flicking back up to Jaime's laughing green eyes.

She flushed a little, but the feeling was more pleasant than it normally was, like a soft buzzing right beneath her skin. Feeling bold, she said, "Well, if you're so confident, why don't you help us then?"

 Jaime lifted an eyebrow and then shifted so that he could lean closer to her, sending the buzzing feeling into overdrive. "Help? What, by modeling? You want me to model for you, Brienne?"

This was not a darkened club room, no pounding pop music to cover their laughs and words. No, people were milling all around, diamond lights glaring down, leaving both of them painfully visible, but Brienne found it very hard to care at the moment. There was something so lovely about the way Jaime's mouth curled in a teasing smile, something that had nothing to do with the structural symmetry of his features.

"We could always use more models," Brienne said after a moment. "You're a little - a little too typical, but we'll make do."

Jaime tossed his head back and laughed, and Brienne felt danger as she watched his body shake with mirth. _Gods above, what are you doing to me?_

"Plus," she added, when Jaime was settling back into a moderate chuckle, "Ellaria wants us for a new job, I think, so we'll probably need more models."

"Good," Jaime breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. "I promise to assist in any way that I can."

Brienne licked her lips, followed Jaime's eyes as he tracked the movement, and then made herself pull back, wondering if the movement betrayed any of the reluctance yelling in her brain. "I have to go greet people. They're still arriving."

"And you've already taken up far too much time with me," Jaime ended. He leaned himself back as well. "Fair enough. Go be responsible."

She pushed herself back from the table and turned away, then hesitated and looked back. "Um - after dinner, things normally quiet down -"

A slow smile spread over Jaime's slender lips. "I'll wait with your handkerchief by my heart." He pulled the pocket square from his own pocket and waved it around in a manner reminiscent of any number of unrealistic damsels in distress.

Brienne rolled her eyes and turned away, grinning as her heart took flight.

 

* * *

 

Jaime watched her go with a hum beginning to play in the back of his throat. Perhaps he would bid on that private dinner for auction and see if it was up Brienne's alley - it was probably a little early for a vacation back to Tarth, but Jaime allowed himself the luxury of fantasy for a moment, imagining the moment that he could really compare Brienne's eyes with the sea - and if a fancy dinner wasn't her thing, he could always give the thing to Tyrion and Tysha. It didn't matter to him particularly what they did. Jaime imagined that he could even find the opera bearable if Brienne sat by his side.

He grinned, plans in mind, and turned in the direction that Margaery had gone with Tyrion and Tysha -

"Jaime."

He knew the voice before the first syllable had even finished penetrating into his bones, had heard it from the first moment his ears had known what hearing was, had had it as an almost constant until a year ago - the only constant he had ever had. Jaime's heart began to pound against its lining, sweat collecting at the base of his brow, as his eyes sought and found.

She was in a shade of russet red that had been trademarked by the Lannister family three generations ago, falling thick and heavy around her legs, shielding the stiletto heels that he knew she preferred. Gold, real gold, metallic to a fault, laced itself in an intricate pattern over her deep bodice, and that same gold was reflected in her hair, only the sheen along distinguishing itself from her golden locks.

She was standing just a few feet before him, hands folded before her in a manner meant to look demure and ladylike, though only the most clueless of entities could have been fooled by such a look. Green eyes, his exact shade, bore into his, and he swallowed, throat suddenly drier than the surface of the sun.

" _Cersei._ "


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which twins feature prominently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess - who - sucks - at - updating? (Sorry)

When Jaime had been 11, he and Cersei had found a beehive in the midst of a swarming, dirty and dark and filled with panicked buzzing and blurry, black-and-yellow stripes. The new queens had fought to the death, stingers out at the ready, until only one of them had remained, ready to take her place as the new ruler. From that day on, their nanny had told them, she would never have to do anything herself ever again. Her workers would cater to her every need, themselves only an extension of her power and every one willing to die at the drop of a hat.

"What are you doing here?"

"It was an open invite." Cersei took a step towards him, and the pressure that accompanied her presence doubled. "Anyone can be here assuming they could afford the ticket."

"And while I'm sure you could, I meant the question a little more esoterically." Jaime tightened his grip on the stem of the glassware, using the cold touch to ground himself. "What are you, a person who has never willingly attended a charity event not hosted by at least four A-list celebrities, doing here?"

A line appeared between Cersei's eyebrows, though it was probably fainter than it should have been. As a youth, Cersei's default expression had been frowning, but Botox had taken care of those memories. She was debating with herself - it was almost possible for Jaime to see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out what would be the best way to approach this new manipulation.

Finally, Cersei simply snapped, "I need your help."

He could tell, based on the way the line deepened even against the chemically paralyzed muscles and the heads turning in their direction, that his laugh was too loud. He found that he couldn't quite control it though and so let it peter out slowly, until it had died down to a soft chortle, and he was wiping tears from his eyes.

"That's funny. I know you might not have heard me properly since you were drunk out of your mind as per usual - where's your wine glass by the way? I didn't think you could live without it. You and Robert had that in common if nothing else - but anyways, let me say it again for you." Jaime leaned forward, eyes locked on Cersei's. " _We're done_. I'm not your stooge anymore. I don't care what you've done, I don't care who you've done it to, I don't care what trouble you're in, Cersei. We were done the moment you decided that I was disposable, and I should have told you sooner, but stupid me, I was sentimental." He let himself fall back again and shook his head. "Get another lawyer, Cersei. You have the money for it."

"I _can't_ ," Cersei insisted. "You're the only one who can possibly help me, Jaime, please. Stannis -"

" _Stannis_? " And it was all Jaime could do to not burst into another round of laughter at the mention of Cersei's dead husband's brother, the middle child between Robert and Renly. "What've you done to get on the bad side of Stannis? Killing his brother, I thought, actually brought you two closer, so what is it? You try to get in the middle of one of his deals? Poison someone he actually cares about?"

Fury was hard to distinguish from irritation on Cersei's face, but it was clear enough in her eyes and the rigid set of her hands, the knuckles bulging out of the skin at the strength of the clench. Jaime observed with some detached interest, wondering how angry Cersei would have to be to have the bones just burst right out. It occurred to him that he didn't really care to find out.

"You know, this has been fun, but," and Jaime made a show of checking his phone for the time, "I think dinner's starting soon, and that's as good of an excuse as any to leave this conversation. Have a horrible life." He turned away -

"He's trying to take the children away!"

In spite of himself, Jaime felt himself stopping, turning again, the word, "What?" escaping his mouth before he could stop it.

There were tears in Cersei's eyes, though whether or not they were real was a tossup. Tywin had felt indulgent one summer, and Cersei had spent it at drama camp, where she had made exactly zero friends, but decent progress with the fake crying. She lifted a hand to impatiently push them away, saying as she did so, "Stannis is suing me for custody of the children. He's trying to take Myrcella and Tommen away! You have to, Jaime." Cersei reached forward, clutching at Jaime's arm. He tugged, but found that he couldn't quite release himself. Desperation had made her strong in ways her personal trainer never could have. "Whatever miscommunications we might have had in the past, you can't deny that I love my children."

_Miscommunications!_ It tempted Jaime to laugh again, but it was difficult with the nails digging into his skin and the image of Myrcella and Tommen in his mind. Joffrey had been a nightmare, almost from the beginning, and it had honestly surprised him how long it had taken for the young man to land in jail, but Myrcella - Jaime could remember the day that she had been born as if she was his own daughter, all soft and wrinkled and as not cute as any newborn baby, but with a glow of sweet that had blossomed as she had grown.

_And Tommen._ It seemed impossible to Jaime that two such lovely children could have resulted from such an unloving union from two such unloving individuals (really, he had been sure that Joffrey would be just the first in a long line of mini-monsters), but Tommen was every bit as sweet at his sister and gentle to boot, kind to everything that he saw.

_Do they deserve Stannis?_ Stannis, who had been openly disgusted by his older brother and everything he came in contact with, Stannis, who had used his own daughter as a pawn to get elected and then shipped her off to a boarding school at the first suggestion of impropriety, Stannis, who he had never seen smile, not once, not for as long as they had known each other, which was going on 20 years now, more than…

"Please, Jaime," Cersei begged, and she placed her head on Jaime's shoulder. It slotted in perfectly as he was sure it had since they had been in the womb together. "Please. The children need their mother. Don't you wish we had ours?"

_Ours…_ Jaime paused in the middle of a shrug to get Cersei off his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut instead as the scene of jasmine poured over him, half in reality as it cascaded from the air around his sister and half in memory. Their father had smiled back then, really smiled, and someone had been around to make Cersei share, and he had always been able to look up and be whelmed in the flood of comfort and sunshine.

"Good evening, honored guests," blared over the loudspeaker, jarring Jaime back into the present. He looked up, blinking, but the owner of the voice was not immediately visible, nor recognizable. "We'd first like to take this opportunity to welcome you all to our charity ball. We are so pleased that you were able to join us and that you support our cause to ensure everyone feel comfortable in their own skin. We will have some guest speakers later, participants in our programs, who will discuss their experiences, but first, if you'll make your way to the table named on your invitation, you'll be able to enjoy the incredible dinner put together by the Ben Hawkey, and if you're interested, Mr. Hawkey will also be offering a private dinner for two in our auction later on in the evening. Thank you again for coming, and please enjoy yourself!"

Cersei had withdrawn ever so slightly when the speakers had come on, and now she was just looking at Jaime, her hands having slipped down to his. "Jaime - please."

_And isn't it incredible,_ thought some distant, rational part of him, _that she has managed to have this problem exactly when I've switched specialties to divorce law and child custody agreements?_

He gazed down at her and saw black suits and dresses all made in a child size that they should never have had to come in, white jasmines on gray stone carved with Joanna's name and life dates, and his father with the mask of stone that had never come off. The rest of their childhood, and there had been so much of it left, had been all stone, with only the barest glimpses of soft when Gemma came to visit.

_Tommen's 12. I can't - I can't -_

"Jaime."

It was a trap, the green forming vines and thorns that suckered themselves into his skin and heart, pulling him back into the quicksand. _I can't escape,_ came the whisper. _And wasn't I a fool for thinking that I ever could?_

 

* * *

 

He had completely forgotten about the handkerchief and her promise to find him again until dinner was almost over, Tyrion and Tysha having gone off to another table to talk to some new friends, and Brienne sat down in Tyrion's vacated seat, cheeks flushed, wide mouth pulled in an even wider smile.

"Thanks for waiting."

Jaime stared at her, feeling momentarily more blindsided than he had when Cersei had appeared, because that, of course, was inevitable, fate, proof that free will was a lie and the whole universe was deterministic, but Brienne…Brienne was hope and certainty that there was good, no matter how dark the world might seem - she was awkwardness and subtle humor and barely cracked smiles that made him feel like a god among men when he could tug them out of her, the feeling of a fairy tale turned human -

He could just imagine what Cersei would say if she ever met Brienne. 'Ugly' would only be the beginning. Cersei made hippos look mild-mannered, would have put to shame a honey badger with her temper. And whatever Brienne experienced before in terms of insults, Cersei would destroy with a deep, self-satisfied cruelty that Jaime had ignored for far too long.

It was unbearable, the conclusion that he could feel himself tumbling towards, as if down a cliff, but he found that he couldn't stop. Custody battles could go on for years, years of him falling back into Cersei's fold, where he was someone he himself couldn't bear to look back on, years of meetings and arguments that he would be unable to stop.

_I can't do that,_ and it hurt, just the thought, like needles in a salted wound, but the idea of Brienne being dragged into the whole mess tore even harder. _We can't have anything._

Gradually, he became aware that Brienne had begun talking again, and he forced himself from his haze to listen to her. If it was one of the last times he'd have the chance, he didn't want to miss a word.

"- repealed the Bloodlines law," Brienne was saying. The blaze of color in her cheeks was somehow more uniform than normal, and it made her look terribly alive. "So the royal family of Dorne can marry whoever they want now, not just proven members of nobility and other royal families." She took a breath and then a drink from his glass before continuing, "I think I told you that we know Ellaria Sand. She's the editor of a fashion magazine, but she's also known for being the partner of Prince Oberyn. They've been together for years - they have children - but they've never been legitimized, because they weren't allowed to get married, but now -"

"They must be happy," Jaime replied. He felt a million miles away, as if he was watching as a ghost in the ceiling.

"I think Ellaria is mostly glad her daughters can have an actual place now, but that means that they're going to have a royal wedding." Brienne shook her head, her smile still as firmly in place as it had been when she had first arrived. "Ellaria can be a little dramatic sometimes, so she doesn't want to choose her designers in the normal way. She wants to hold a contest, have designers compete against each other for the dress and Oberyn's suit and document the results in the magazine and online."

"And you and Margaery are going to compete?"

"Yeah, that's why she wanted to talk to us." Brienne bit her lip, and Jaime watched as the blood fled from the point of impact. "It'd be really great advertising - Margaery thinks we might be able to expand and hire some more people - I don't know if you've met Pod - Podrick Payne, my assistant - we could take him on full time."

"That's great," Jaime said, trying to infuse the words with the right amount of enthusiasm. He wasn't sure how successful he was.

It didn't seem like Brienne really noticed, since she was still chewing on her lip. Her energy had suddenly dropped, along with her gaze. "I - uh - we need people to model with, before we make the official designs for them, and I - uh - I volunteered you." She glanced at him through pale lash curtains. "Is that - are you okay with that?"

_No,_ came the immediate thought. _No, do you know how much harder that will make all of this? No, can't you see that this hurts already? No, I can't do that, no, definitely not._ But it wasn't Brienne's fault that he had been born on the other side of a coin as the world's most selfish, self-absorbed monster.

"Yeah," Jaime found himself saying. "Yeah, of course. I - I'm happy to help."

The smile returned to Brienne's face, and Jaime found himself wrapped in strong arms as Brienne leaned into hug him. He closed his eyes and breathed in softly, taking in the moment.

"Thank you." Brienne drew back and searched his eyes. "Thank you so much."

He nodded and swallowed hard before pushing his chair back and standing up. "Brienne, I - I need to say something."

"What's wrong?" Brienne asked, standing as well. It put her above him again, blinking in puzzled concern.

Jaime gave himself a second to gaze up at her, committing every detail to memory, before steeling himself. "I - I like you. I wasn't kidding, when I said I was attracted to you. I am, Brienne, physically, mentally, in literally way. You are - you're incredible, and if I -" He inhaled sharply and then forced himself forward, "But I don't - we can't - I can't be in a relationship." He shook his head, frowning, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. "I'm not - I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - I -" He knew it was a bad idea to look back up, but it was irresistible, the small movement, and then the catch of ocean held him still.

Brienne was frowning, too, eyes confused and hurt - and gods, what he wouldn't give to have kept that expression from her face forever - but mostly worried. "Okay," she said, "I - it's okay, Jaime. It's okay. But - are you?"

He thought of Lannister gold and Brienne's flax-white hair, inescapable emerald and the freedom of blue skies and the black of Joanna's funeral dress, and found that he couldn't quite answer.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which coffee features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I can keep apologizing, but here we are, and I am really sorry for this intense delay.

" - was thinking about a high neck dress to make it interesting, you know, cause Ellaria normally has those deep v-necks." Sansa pushed her sketchbook across the table, pencil in one hand. "And then maybe a long train? His Highness' mother had one for her wedding dress."

"I don't think we need to call him His Highness," Jon remarked as he glanced down at the sketch through stray curls. Brienne had always been a little envious of Jon's hair, which could only be described as truly luxurious. She couldn't imagine what he spent on products to keep it in such a condition. "He's not even here."

"Well, he's still a prince," Sansa pointed out, seemingly indignant on behalf of the absent royal. "We should be polite."

"Oberyn isn't really one for tradition," Margaery commented mildly as she leaned over Jon's shoulder to peer at the drawing. "And that would likely help to appease the older members of the family, but Ellaria's fairly attached to her drop-necks."

Sansa chewed on her lip and then brightened, "Oh, why don't we have something sheer for the high neck, but use an underlayer to create the drop neck illusion? Then, we can have both."

Jon crossed his arms across his chest. "Still pretty risqué for a royal wedding."

His cousin frowned at him. "This whole thing is risqué. He's marrying a commoner."

"Well," Margaery corrected. "Not technically a commoner. Ellaria's family is actually older than the Martells, but she's not legitimate, so."

"Close enough," Sansa replied. She pulled the book back to her and began to erase and add new lines. "What do you think, Brienne?"

Brienne, who had been doodling in her own sketchbook, paused what she was doing to take a look at Sansa's picture. It was long and gracefully done, as to be expected given Sansa's art minor, but looked rather plain. "Ellaria likes to be adventurous," she said after a moment's study. "I think the sheer combination would be good, but the rest of the dress has to stand out too."

Sansa nodded, tapping the rubber end of the pencil thoughtfully on the cream paper.

"You'll think of something," Margaery said kindly, with a gentle squeeze of Sansa's shoulder. "It's only our first brainstorming session." She checked her watch, a slim, white leather thing with a rose gold timepiece, and stood up. "It's almost 2:30. You guys have an appointment elsewhere, right?"

There was a hurried jumble of movement as Jon and Sansa quickly gathered their things and shuffled out the door, Margaery and Brienne carrying the excess paper that Sansa had brought. The younger girl had been even more gung-ho about the opportunity than either of _Sew What's_ originators, _but then,_ Brienne thought, _it is her first time really designing._

They waved at the car as Jon drove off, and then both retreated back inside. Brienne yawned and was amused to see that Margaery was doing the same.

Her partner caught her eye and grinned. "Are we possibly too in sync? Am I going to become you? Not that I would mind the extra height, but I always liked being a brunette."

"Blondes have more fun," Brienne quipped and was rather delighted at Margaery's giggle. "I'm going to go get some coffee. Would you like some?"

"Please," Margaery replied gratefully. "Take your time. We don't have any appointments for the rest of the day, and I know that you've been scrunched up over your desk for the last two days, coming up with ideas." She tapped Brienne's back disapprovingly. "You're going to get a permanent bend."

A little unwillingly, Brienne straightened herself. "Mocha or something stronger?"

"Something cold, I think. It's too hot for a normal mocha."

Brienne nodded in agreement and waved as she stepped out into the sunlight. The week had been a dizzying mess of heat waves and humidity that had sent more than a dozen poor hydrated individuals to the emergency room. Even Brienne, who had been raised on an island that had alternated between beautifully breezed and oven-roasted, was feeling a little stuffed, so she took her time getting to the café.

There were a couple close to _Sew What?,_ but none of them had cold brew, Margaery's preferred summer coffee choice, so Brienne wound up walking a few extra blocks, the sweat slowly beading up on her forehead and armpits.

She ducked into _Cup of Jolene_ about 15 minutes later, blinking sun from her eyes as they adjusted to their dimmer new surroundings. The shop was extremely tidy, with well-worn wood tables and chairs and even a few couches lining the cozy innards. A display case showed a half dozen or so featured pastries and sandwiches, but most of the store's employees were busy making iced drinks, mostly teas and coffees, with a few smoothies and green juices thrown in here and there.

The barista was a college-aged young man with pierced ears and hair so colorful that even Loras might have called it 'wild'. He patiently waited for Brienne to rattle through Margaery's order and then hesitantly pick out her own. He wrote her name down on two cups - completely wrong, Brienne noted absently - and put them to the side, where one of his coworkers scooped them up while he went onto the next customer.

Dabbing the sweat from her forehead, Brienne stepped to the side to wait for her order, slipping her phone out of her pocket as she did so. It was beautifully clunky, terrifying large, but Brienne always took some comfort in that. With its indestructible case (which had proven itself on many a hike), she felt quite confident that she could probably use the thing as a weapon and have it come out none the worse. She tapped through a series of new articles, some local, some national, though in King's Landing, there was often a lot of crossover, glancing up only when the door swung open again, swampy air tumbling in -

And promptly almost dropped her phone as Jaime Lannister ducked in through the glass door. He looked infuriatingly untouched by the heat, as sleek and cool as the leather briefcase he gripped in one hand, the other one adjusting the tie at his throat. It was the tie that really caught her attention, a deep shade of blue-gray that she knew intimately well.

She had been surprised when he had told her that he didn't want a relationship, not because of the words, which she had heard often enough, but because of the quality of his voice as he had told her that, filled with something that sounded just like the perfect facsimile of real regret if it wasn't the genuine article. He had seemed so defeated, something so incongruous with the way he always held himself. It had shaken Brienne badly enough to have distracted her for the rest of the evening, but the days following had been filled with such bustle and hustle that it had almost completely slipped her mind.

Jaime stepped up to the counter and placed his order, telling the barista to make the order out to "Kevan" before stepping to the side. He glanced down at the watch at his wrist, and as he eyes came back up, they caught onto Brienne.

They were so green, his eyes, like the thick of summer, when the flowers had mostly died, and it was just foliage left, endless layers that billowed outwards. The look was accentuated when his eyes widened, as they did now, and he paused in his sideways motion to stare at her, seemingly stunned. She raised a hand, instantly becoming aware of how awkward the gesture made her feel, and attempted a small smile.

Based on Jaime's reaction, she might as well have been growling. He clutched at his briefcase in a manner totally unbefitting of someone who exuded so much confidence and swallowed hard.

Brienne watched the rise and fall of his Adam's apple and decided to press forward. "Hi, Jaime. It's - um - it's nice to see you," she offered.

Behind the counter, she could see the barista eying the interaction between the two of them not so subtly out of one eye as he worked the machine. Heat prickled at her face, and she forced herself to concentrate on a spot just under Jaime's left ear so as to avoid both their gazes.

"Brienne," Jaime stammered finally. "I - here - didn't expect -"

It was strange to see him stutter. He hadn't seemed like the type. She wondered if it should have given her some pride to have inspired such uncertainty in him, but she found herself wishing instead they could return to that not-always-so-gentle ribbing.

"I'm here for coffee," Brienne filled in. "Yes. Margaery likes this place." She nodded at the cup the barista was sticking under the coffee machine, lowering her voice, "Do you always give out a fake name?"

He seemed to struggle for a moment, perhaps with the question, though she wasn't sure about that, and then, he answered, voice equally soft. "It's easier this way. I don't get recognized that often, but why raise the chances."

He felt silent, and Brienne waited for a moment before trying, "The suit looks nice."

That brought a quarter-smile to his lips. "Is this narcissism?" He quipped, before biting his lip and shaking his head as if he had remembered something. "Yeah. It is. Everyone agrees. You did a great job." Jaime smoothed a hand down the stormy weather tie self-consciously and then asked, hesitantly, "How - have you been?"

"Good," she answered with a nod. "Pretty busy. Margaery has been dealing with the funds we raised - it was one of our best events definitely - and we've been working with the Sansa and Jon on the designs for Ellaria's wedding. Hopefully, I'll have something mocked up in a couple weeks, and then you can come by to try it out."

"Try -" Jaime's voice seemed to catch in his throat. "Oh. Right."

_He forgot_ , Brienne thought. Or perhaps - _he didn't want to remember_. Aloud, she asked, "Do you - can you not do it after all?" It was hard to keep her own voice from catching, because whatever else might be, she had enjoyed his company, and it had hurt more than a little to hear the rejection before anything had even happened. She had hoped that they might be able to stay friends - _are we friends?_ \- but perhaps that had been folly.

Emotions were going to war on Jaime's face, and he shook his head without speaking.

"You don't have to," she reassured him, dimly recognizing her tone as one that one might use with a spooked animal. Jaime had a lot of similarities to one, especially now, but even when they had first met - tense and posturing and ready to throw up his guard and weapons at the slightest provocation. "We can find someone else."

"It might be better if you did," Jaime said, stuffing his hands. "I just - I don't know how much I can be around. I have -" He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, and was that her imagination or were those living shadows flickering across his face? "I picked up some extra work, not just with the firm, so I - I'm going to be busy."

"Brienne?" Came the call from the kid behind the counter. He raised an eyebrow at her as he handed over the two cups, but otherwise said absolutely nothing about the conversation he was so obviously eavesdropping on. She felt the characteristic red rise in her cheeks and resisted a roll of her eyes as she went back to stand next to Jaime.

Condensation on the side of the cold plastic made the things slippery, and she placed them on a nearby table, wiping her damp hands on her pants. "You don't have to if you think you won't have time," she said slowly when her hands were dry. "But honestly, we have your measurements, so it would just be a couple fittings, and you know what those are like, and then just a few photoshoots if we get far enough." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's really up to you." She vacillated for a moment, pondering how much of one's heart was too much to show. It was a question that she knew the answer to intimately well, but she wanted to give more than her strict rules dictated.

"I think you would be a good model," she finished with, a mediocre compromise that was objectively true and not too revealing, "And fashion is as much about the person wearing the clothes as it is about the clothes." And to herself, she finished, It'd be nice to keep seeing you.

The corner of Jaime's lips quirked up, and he shifted, straightening his back and elongating his form. "Even if that person slouches?"

Her mouth echoed his, lifting in a wry smile. "We'll buy you one of those posture vests." Brienne let the smile fade and then asked, "What do you think? We're not done designing yet, but as soon as we are, I'd like to start cutting, so I need to know who our model is going to be. It's fine if you don't want to - Loras always likes prancing around."

Jaime snorted. "I bet." He fell silent, seemingly entranced with the whirr of the machine behind the counter. He stepped forward when the barista called out the fake name he had given and took the proffered cup with an automatic grace. The cup went up to his lips and then, apparently bolstered by the taste, he looked back at Brienne.

"If it means anything," she said, the words dragging themselves from her lips unbidden and a sore turn from her clinic words of just a few moments before, "It would be nice to work with you - see you -" Embarrassment scorched her insides, but her mouth was now rampaging. " - to see you, even if you don't want anything more."

_Stupid_ , admonished the part of her that still hurt from childhood mockery, _stupid. Stupid, now he knows what you want, knows that you -_

_As if he didn't before_ , the rest of her retorted, and she shoved that part of her back down into the recesses of her mind. It was too late at this point anyways. The words were out.

Jaime covered his face, nearly whacking himself in the eye with his briefcase. There was a mumbling of words that she could not quite make out, and then green peered out at her from over brown leather. "Alright," he said, voice slightly muffled. "When do you need me to come by?"

"I'll text you when we're done."

"Of course," Jaime muttered. He lowered the briefcase and shook his head. "I have to get back. Brienne -" and he paused and smiled faintly. "Bye."

She waved at him and wondered how that word could feel like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're able and willing, here are some charities similar to the one that this version of Brienne is helping with:
> 
> Astrea Lesbian Foundation For Justice (tackles a whole range of LGBTQI issues with a wholistic view): https://www.astraeafoundation.org
> 
> Dress for Success (helping women obtain professional clothes): https://dressforsuccess.org
> 
> Victory Institute (works to elevate LGBT leaders): https://victoryinstitute.org


End file.
